From a Small Seed a Mighty Trunk Shall Grow
by SparklingLetters
Summary: A loosely connected series of stories with the uniting element being Stable Queen. Starting from the time Regina and Daniel meet as children, it follows their growing friendship as it evolves into love. Whether the story will follow canon or turn AU when it comes to Daniel's death will be decided later. Rated T just to be on the safe side for the future.
1. Blind Man's Buff

_**Chapter 1**_

_**Blind Man's Buff**_

Spring, eagerly awaited and only just arrived, has swiftly painted the handful of trees and shrubs scattered across the square bright with blooming flowers and budding leaves. The townsfolk all seem to have poured out of doors to bask in the first warm rays of the year. A dog runs past with a prize of juicy meat, to the loud protest of the plump butcher, who, rather than striving to catch the furry thief, merely shakes a fist at him.

Regina cheers for the shaggy pup. She sits perched on the rich velvet seat of the carriage, peering out from behind the lace curtains, wishing she were out there with the rest of the world. Mama told her not to get out and wait inside for her to return, so she's stuck inside, in the dark belly of the beast instead. That's the story she tells herself anyway, as it has a much more exciting ring to it than the dull carriage it really is. A leviathan. Or a whale, perhaps. Sometimes, it's a dragon. Either way, the beast is asleep now. Only Mama can wake it and command it, bend it to her will and make it do her bidding. The beast isn't harming Regina; it never does. It merely keeps her prisoner. Horrible things would happen if she were to try to escape its bottomless stomach, she muses.

She watches with narrowed eyes the door of the inn Mama disappeared in. Mama has been out of sight for a while now, the beast is asleep, and the day – oh so beautiful! Regina is starting to feel safe, or brave, or reckless. What harm can a little stroll do?

Her mind all made up, Regina swiftly jumps off the seat and throws the door open. She leans out, and looks left and right with sparkling eyes. The coachman turns his head at the sound of the door flying open, and meets her gaze. He knows he'd be expected to keep an eye on Regina but he is technically just a coachman, not a nursemaid. The dark-haired child smiles and winks at him, unsuspecting, trusting. The man can't but smile back at her. He will turn a blind eye to little Regina's endeavours: Lady Cora keeps a tight enough rein on her as it is, much too much so, he thinks. He winks back at her and turns away. Regina understands. They have a pact now, the coachman will not tell on her.

She climbs down one step, then jumps off triumphantly onto the dirt-covered square. She must remember to clean her shoes before Mama gets back, so she doesn't notice anything. Regina slinks around the carriage, lest she be surprised by some mighty enemy. One of the sleeping dragon's heads, for instance. Her heart sinks a little when she reaches the front even though she knew the horses would have been led into the stables to be fed and watered while Mama is attending to her business. This means they will be staying a while, which is good news for Regina now she has decided to fight her way out of the dragon's belly into the fresh spring day.

The square is full of life, much more so than from behind the curtain, Regina feels, and to Regina, everything is fascinating, most of all the people. They're coming and going, most of them minding their own business, never looking in the direction of the conspicuous luxurious carriage parked at the inn entrance. In truth, many cast a fleeting glance but turn away within a fraction of a second, never so much as slowing their pace or interrupting whatever activity they are pursuing. A man by the looks of a travelling merchant watches Regina jump across a puddle in the middle of the square and waves at her. Regina glows and waves back, accidentally dropping her hitched up skirt into the mud. The blacksmith next to the merchant frowns, leans over to him and whispers in his ear. The merchant's face falls. He gives Regina an odd sideways glance and turns away darkly. Regina's forehead wrinkles in a small frown, then she shrugs and turns back to the puddle, ready to jump back across. Her heart leaps.

There at the opposite end of the square near an old stone well, a bunch of children are playing. One of them has their eyes covered by a piece of rag and is groping, with outstretched arms, to catch one of the others, who in turn are avoiding the boy as best they can, shouting and laughing every time they manage a particularly skilful manoeuvre and slip just beyond his reach. Regina is just about to run up to them when Mama's voice echoes in her ear, as vivid as if Mama were really leaning to her from behind: "A lady doesn't run about foolishly. A lady must be graceful." Regina doesn't care much about being a lady but Mama seems to care a great deal, so Regina obeys most of the time just to make Mama happy. This time, however, Regina wants to be just like those other boys and girls over there, running and ducking and having fun. And Mama isn't there to see. Regina lifts the skirt of her dress slightly and runs the short distance to the other side of the square effortlessly. She stops abruptly in the midst of the shouting mass of children.

Nobody seems to notice her at first in the thick of the game. Then a small freckled girl with pigtails and a missing front tooth stops in her tracks and eyes her curiously, looking her up and down. "Hello," Regina said. "Hi," replied the girl, eyes open wide and staring first at Regina's periwinkle embroidered dress, then at her wrist. "Do you like my bracelet? I could give it to you if you like. My name is Regina. May I play with you, please?" At that, a bigger girl with a thick plait shows up suddenly and puts a protective arm around the small one. They both have the same freckles. "It's Lady Scary's kid!" the big girl hisses.

The other children freeze. The boy who was "it" yanks the cloth off his eyes. Regina looks them around, blinking once. "My Mama is Lady Cora. But she's not here now. She won't be coming for a while. I can be 'it'," she offers. The boy holding the ragged blindfold looks at the big freckled sister. She keeps staring intently at Regina and now her eyes acquire a strange glint. "We don't want no trouble," she says eventually. "We'll only let you play 'cos maybe Lady Scary would get wicked if we didn't…" The children all nod vigorously. Apparently, this Lady Scary is even more frightful than the dragon-carriage…oh. Regina stands quite motionless but surveys them all with keen eyes. "But we don't play with sissy lil' ladies," the boy with the rag speaks up, the adult word strange in his mouth. "I'm not!" Regina blurts out passionately. "She's not gonna catch us anyway," another girl peeps up, then gets bolder yet. "They don't play games like we play." "I'll beat you anytime," Regina says quietly. The big freckled girl steps up. "Let's make a deal. If you don't catch anyone, that thing on your wrist is ours," she challenges maliciously. "Fine."

Regina reaches for the rag. The boy moves behind her and ties it around her eyes so she can't see. "There," he says with satisfaction. The rough cloth bites and scratches at her face and weaves too tight around her forehead. Defiant, she fights the urge to adjust it. "Are you ready? I'm coming," Regina announces solemnly, giving them a chance to scatter. She starts turning in a slow circle, making up her mind about which way to go. All is quiet for a while. A moment later, when they finally pluck up the courage, the children start teasing, calling: "Oi, over here!", "Catch me if you can!", and even "Stinker, stinker!" in a cacophony of voices.

Regina keeps spinning cautiously, listening, waiting, lulling them into a false sense of safety. Suddenly she lashes out and comes inches from grabbing the big freckled girl, who ducks at the very last moment with a yelp. Regina loses her balance for a moment but regains it quickly enough. She starts to spin again. The children grow more cautious again. This is no ordinary game. "Lady Scary's baby lady!" comes a shrill cry from behind Regina. She whips around and lunges forward. Next thing she knows, she's lying face down in a pool of muddy water, the slimy mess warm and stale on her lips.

The children's laughter rings in her ears. She senses her face turning red with embarrassment. She feels around with her feet… There's a wooden plank nearby; she must have tripped over that. Regina's eyes burn and her hand flies to the blindfold instinctively. Then it lingers in mid-air, retreats back to the ground slowly, and Regina pushes herself up. She feels water dripping off her face and soaking into her dress. She holds her head high, her brow furrowed, her small mouth set.

The laughter dies out and complete silence falls. Regina can hear herself breathing. Perhaps she could hear them breathing too if she listens hard enough. She tries, and she hears, not the children's breathing, but a dull thud of wood on dirt somewhere to her left. She leaps forward on cue before the mocking voice has time to ensue. Successfully avoiding the trap, Regina waves her arms in front of her – and gets a handful of hair, a thick coarse plait. "Ouch! Gerroff me!" With a brief flash of triumph on her face, Regina lets go. She pulls the rag off her eyes and blinks in the sunlight.

The girl glowers at her hatefully, nursing her scalp where Regina pulled at the thick plait. Regina makes a tentative step towards her but the girl backs away. "Alright, you win. You always get what you want anyway, don't you! You're still just a spoilt stuck-up princess, and that's who you will always be! You ain't foolin' nobody!" Regina just stares back at her, puzzled, disbelieving. She makes another step towards the enraged girl. The air quickens as the children gasp as one. The girl turns pale. "Are you gonna have your Ma hurt me now? We know she is a wicked witch!" Regina's eyes glisten. She raises a hand to her wrist. She slides off her bracelet and wraps it in the rag she's still holding. "Here," she says softly, offering both to the little freckled girl with pigtails, who flinches in fear as Regina approaches her but accepts the bundle, retreating immediately. Regina's eyes return to the older sister: "…if you wanted it so much." She turns her back on them and breaks into a run, shouting over her shoulder: "And my Mama is not wicked!" She speeds off, her fists clenched and her hair flying in all directions, unaware where she is going. Just away from there, away from them, away from the beast's belly as well… Away.

3


	2. A Stable Friendship

_**Chapter 2**_

_**A Stable Friendship**_

Blind to everything, she runs, across dirt, mud, and stone, until she is hit by the unmistakable smell of the mixture of hay, sweat and manure; her feet have automatically carried her to the stables. She looks around and immediately spots Countess and Baron, Mama's carriage horses, drinking fresh water from the trough. She runs up to them, unlatches the door, and slips into the box. The horses snort appreciatively as she pats them, albeit in a distracted manner, still out of breath from running.

She squeezes past them and sits down in the far corner of the box on a fresh bale of hay. Hugging her knees, she rests her forehead on her arms. There's a wetness on her eyelashes she knows is neither mud nor puddle; a lone droplet trickles down her cheek, drawing a clear path on her dirt-covered face, and lends a salty tang to her lips. Before she has fully yielded to tears, out of the blue comes a stranger's voice, and her heart skips a beat.

"I was hoping you'd find your way in here…I left the door open for you."

Regina's head shoots up in alarm. She looks around wildly but sees nobody at first. "Where are you? Show yourself!" she hears her own quivering voice. The hay scattered on the floor rustles as feet shuffle around. There's someone else right there in the box with her, Regina realises. "Don't be scared," the voice says amid the ceaseless rustling of hay under the stranger's feet. "You can hide in here."

A shadow emerges from behind Baron's massive backside. A boy about her age, or maybe a little older, with light brown hair, a brush in one hand and a piece of cloth in the other, stands before her. "I - I am not hiding!" Regina protests, brushing a strand of muddy hair from her face. The boy gives her a searching look. "Here, you can clean yourself up a little," he offers her the cloth. Somewhat gingerly, Regina takes it after a moment's hesitation, but returns his look with a hint of mistrust all the same.

"Why are you here? You shouldn't be sneaking around our horses like that," she inquires suspiciously as she begins to wipe the mud off of her face. "My Dad's a groom, so I sort of grew up in the stables. I'm taking care of your horses while he's talking business in there." He indicates the brush in his hand as he speaks, and points in the direction of the inn. Regina's eyes widen. "Will your Daddy be our new groom then? The old one left the other day." "Maybe. Then we wouldn't have to be on the road all the time anymore. Then he'd be less sick." She is reduced to silence at the unexpected piece of personal information and forgets her own distress momentarily. A split second later, her eyes light up.

"But you get to be with horses a lot, right?" "Yes. Do you like horses?" "I love them!" she exclaims, glowing, while she continues rubbing her face with the cloth absent-mindedly. "Mama says I shouldn't go to the stables much though, I guess she doesn't like the smell. But I think it's nice," she lowers her voice unwittingly. "I sneak in there quite often." Then, as if scared she has revealed too much, she turns away from him. The boy remains standing where he is, surveying Regina with calm curiosity.

Regina finishes scrubbing her face and proceeds to sorting out her dress. "Oh…" she sighs softly. "What is it?" She turns around wordlessly, spreading out the skirt of her dress for him to see. Apart from the multitude of dirt stains, there's also a gaping tear the front. Regina's lower lip quivers as she finally speaks: "Mama will be so angry."

The boy is quiet for a while. "That was really well played out there," he says eventually in a sincere effort to cheer her up. "You could have asked for something from them you know, you won the bet after all." However, his words have exactly the opposite effect to what he intended: the recollection of the wretched game of blind-man's buff makes Regina's eyes refill with tears. "Don't cry because of them, they're just mean because they're scared." Regina fights to suppress a sob. "I didn't want anything. I just wanted to play with them. Just like all the other children. I don't have anyone to play with." Her voice breaks. She bows her head to hide the unstoppable stream of tears that have just brimmed over. The boy steps up to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. She turns her startled, tear-stained face up to his solemn, kind one. "I'll play with you," he says simply. "My name is Daniel."

* * *

"Daniel! I'm back! Daniel!" a vibrant little voice echoes from outside. The heavy door flies open and in bursts a lively entanglement of flying raven hair and a billowing baby-blue hood. Out-of-breath and panting slightly, she turns rapidly to push the door closed behind her before she faces the inside of the stable with anticipation written all over her face.

"Grab a brush," the brown-haired boy, whose face has lit up at the sound of her voice, gestures broadly, hand with brush hanging mid-air over the grey mare's back. She moves swiftly and surely - obviously not by far for the first time. She pulls off the richly textured hood on the go and throws it haphazardly onto one of the rough nails on the wall. She is at Daniel's side shortly. The children are now both brushing the horse with practised, synchronised movements, an identical conspiratorial gleam in their eyes and a grin on their faces.

He still remembers how she first came to the stables after his father had been made the Mills' new groom: her excitement much more contained then, as if she had been wary of disappointment of some kind. Her cheeks flushed with joy when she saw him dragging a heavy bucket of freshly drawn water to one of the huge troughs. "So it's true!" she exclaimed. "My Mama did hire your Daddy! We can be friends now…can't we?" she hesitated, full of zest yet sheepish at the same time. Daniel smiled, pleased she didn't intend to back out of their freshly struck friendship. Then his face fell. "I can't play now," he said. "I need to get all the work done first." Would she understand? Or would she be mad or else dejected? Much to his relief – and surprise - a bright smile spread across her face. "Perfect," she breathed. Then, almost stumbling over her own eager words: "Will you teach me?"

And he did; and he still does. Regina is an eager learner, her eagerness doesn't diminish one bit with time, and Daniel has come to understand her love of horses is genuine and her gift with them exceptional. Work doesn't feel bothersome at all and tending to the horses together becomes something of a habit, a thing of their own for them to share and enjoy. A whole afternoon may easily go by without them speaking more than a few words to each other, most of them horse-related; yet the silence never leaves anything to wish for. No one else knows of course; this is their little secret, and they like it that way. Regina still isn't supposed to spend too much time at the stables, so they keep out of Lady Cora's sight. Daniel suspects his father might have noticed but he is sure he poses no danger. Their common interest, as well as the secret they share, has created a special kind of bond between them, quite unbeknownst to them.

Then one day, Regina doesn't come.

Daniel finishes the work alone, with his mind at the large Mills mansion - not too far away yet quite out-of-reach for the young stable boy. He keeps stealing glances in its direction all day but sees no sign of her: no wisp of dark hair, no flash of blue fabric, no ringing voice.

There is no sign of her the following day either; nor the day after that, or the one after that. Gradually, he stops expecting her.

* * *

The morning is cold and dour, with heavy clouds gathering from the direction of Firefly Hill. By the afternoon, the day turns into night much too early. All the horses are gathered from the pastures and led back to the stables, with the exception of the sturdy carriage horses, Countess and Baron, which are needed for one of Lady Cora's mysterious outings; it seems even the imminent downpour and impending storm can do nothing to prevent her from following her pursuits. Daniel's father is needed as well, so it will be Daniel staying with the horses overnight, as a calming presence for when the storm comes down eventually.

When it comes, it comes suddenly, and it comes violent. Bucketfuls of icy water pour from the dark steely sky. Bolts of lightning criss-cross the horizon as far as the eye can see, and ear-deafening thunder accompanies them.

The calamity outside doesn't bother Daniel. Inside the stables, the air is still warm and sweet-smelling. The horses are somewhat tense, shaking their manes and snorting occasionally, but the boy's familiar presence seems to have the desired effect on them. Daniel is just about to retreat to a freshly cleaned, straw-strewn stall with a thick blanket when a gust of wind and a spray of raindrops break through the opening door.

A dark, rain-soaked figure squeezes in through the gap and shuts the door with much effort, fighting down a powerful gust of wind. Hands emerge from beneath the cloak – soaked through and through so its colour is actually indiscernible - and push the hood from her face.

"Regina!"

It is her indeed, though she is almost unrecognisable, her hair hanging limp and dripping water, forming small pools at her feet. She glows at the sight of him. "Daniel, I wanted to come, I really did, but Mama…"she pants out, and a shadow crosses her face. Daniel stares at her for a while until the reality of her presence sinks in. He runs over to her and throws the heavy blanket around her shoulders. "You're going to get ill!" he frowns in concern. "You shouldn't have come in this weather!" "I thought you'd be glad to see me," she says, sounding injured. "Of course I am," he replies earnestly and she cannot but believe him. "I just don't want anything to happen to you. Here, come get warm in here." They both settle down in the soft straw in the stall he so carefully prepared. For a moment, neither says a word, they just listen to the sounds of the storm raging outside.

"Mama's not home now, so I managed to sneak out," Regina offers finally. "I'm not allowed to come here anymore," she swallows hard. "I asked…I asked if I could be taught to ride. Mama thinks it's too dangerous and not at all worthwhile for a… young lady," she finishes bitterly. "I don't think she knows what we've been up to but I'm still forbidden to come here altogether." Regina bows her head and her shoulders shake just a notch. Daniel's brow furrows. This is bad news indeed.

"Hey…"he mutters, searching for the right thing to say, the right thing to do. "Maybe…maybe your father could help?" Regina just shakes her head, not looking up. "Regina…I'm sure we'll think of something…" Again, Regina just shakes her head. "You don't know Mama. When she decides something nothing can change her mind." She buries her face in her hands. Daniel hears a small sob escape from the soaked mass of hair and blanket that is his friend Regina. He sidles up to her and puts a reassuring arm around her shoulders. The storm has calmed, unnoticed by both, the rain beating a steady rhythm as it keeps hitting the roof.

The rain pitter-patters away comfortingly and Daniel's eyes start drooping. Regina sits motionless, her head resting on her arms wrapped around her knees. She might even be asleep. Daniel moves his arm a little – just a little, he doesn't want to wake her. A strand of damp dark hair sticks to his palm. He wonders if he should let his eyes close now – the storm seems to be over, the horses will be fine, the danger has passed and it's now safe to rest. He decides to let his eyes stay shut and listens to the raindrops beat irregular patterns as the wind hums through the chinks in the planks.

A new instrument intrudes on nature's orchestra. A regular clatter of metal on stone, a rushing, rolling sound on the driveway. A swish of the whip. A snort. Daniel's eyes flash open – something is out of place. He meets Regina's alarmed gaze – she noticed, too, then. A hushed snort comes from one of the boxes, and another one follows the first. Daniel understands –a greeting. Someone's coming, and who could it be in this kind of weather, at this time of the day, but the lady of the house?

"I have to go!" Regina groans miserably, scrambling up with haste. She shakes off the fuzzy blanket, throws Daniel a look of alarm and disappointment and a silent, uncalled for apology, and runs for the door. "Regina, wait – your hood!" He wants her to have it because it's cold out there, and also because it mustn't be found in the stables, where Regina is not supposed to set foot ever again. She snatches it from his outstretched hand and, without looking at him again, stumbles out into the dark, rainy, chilly night. Daniel holds the door ajar behind her, gazing into the darkness she is soon swallowed by. He hears the carriage come to a halt in the distance, where he knows the main entrance of the house is. He hopes Regina makes it to her room in time. He hopes so for both of their sakes but especially hers – he has heard about Lady Cora's alleged harshness, of course. For all he knows she is not apparently quite as evil as she is cracked up to be but she does seem quite stern all the same. Strict and unrelenting, so the other servants say.

He realises there are no sounds anymore other than the clatter of rain. He pushes the door closed with a sigh and returns to his bed of straw. The fuzzy blanket lies there all crumpled, just as it landed when Regina dropped it in all the rush. He stretches on the floor and pulls the blanket over himself. The comfort of the warm, dry, sweet-smelling straw, the steadily falling rain, and the calm breathing of the horses somehow lack in charm this time.

* * *

Regina stumbles out into the dark and runs, runs as fast as she can, as carefully as she dares, because everything is rain and mud and blackness. She reaches the massive wall of the house, and now she can rush forth more swiftly because there is a stone path. Her hood, soaked to the last fibre, is hanging limply from her hand because there was no time to put it on, and its hem is picking up ever more muddy wetness as it trails behind her. She is almost there, she is almost sure she can make it before Mama has enough time to get out of the carriage, enter the house, and perhaps reach Regina's room to check on her. Almost sure, which is not good enough. She will be in trouble if she is discovered. Daniel will be in trouble, too. Somehow, that's even scarier.

Regina scampers on, leaving the stone path now because she needs to slip around the corner and to her room through a stretch of grass. It's a short enough way but the rain has been so plentiful her feet keep getting stuck in the mud, slowing her down, making squelching sounds she cannot quite hear for the wind and rain but she can imagine them well enough all the same. A window materialises in front of her, emerging from the darkness. Just a few more steps… She makes a dash for it and slips, and lands flat on her back in the muddy grass. It doesn't hurt, as it's such a soft landing thanks to all the water. She pushes herself up and approaches the window, finally. Now she only needs to move the latch she used to close it from the outside. If only her fingers weren't so numb from the chill! She fumbles with it for a moment or two, then finally manages to open the window. The curtains billow in the wind, flapping against the windowsill. Regina throws the hood inside, heaves herself onto the windowsill and climbs in.

She lands with a soft thud – somehow she managed to remember to remove the plush carpet from beneath the window before she left, which was a bright idea, as she will now be able to clean up the tell-tale traces of mud dripping off her. She pushes the window closed. The curtains return to their normal position, with only a few traces of rain dampening them. Regina looks around wildly. The hood must disappear or else Mama will know. She grabs it from the floor and dries excess mud off of herself with it, she even uses it to wipe the floor afterwards, and eventually disposes of the drenched, dirty, lifeless thing – it's not really fir to be called a hood anymore – by burying it at the bottom of one of the ornate chests. The sheets on her canopy bed are flung aside just like she left them. On a last thought, she runs back to the window to push the carpet back to its place. Looking around wildly and finding nothing out of place – except for herself of course – Regina jumps into bed and wraps herself up in the sheets. She pulls them as high up as they would go: her freezing feet, soaked nightgown, shaking shoulders, chattering teeth, even her wet hair is hidden underneath.

It is only now that she's safely back in bed that she realises just how cold she is. She is finally beginning to calm down, to breathe more easily. If Mama comes, she will open the door noiselessly, step to the bed equally noiselessly, scan the sleeping – or pretend-sleeping – shape of Regina mutely, and leave just as noiselessly as she came in the first place. She won't see Regina's wet hair for the sheets, and she won't find out about her little adventure from feeling the dampness of her skin upon placing a hand or a kiss on her forehead either - simply because that's not something she ever does. She doesn't stroke, she doesn't kiss, she doesn't tuck her in – Regina knows this, and right now, she is glad for it. Mama only ever comes to check if rules aren't being broken. Well, even though they are, now is not the time Mama will be finding out, Regina smiles to herself as she curls up under the sheets to keep herself warmer.

5


	3. In Sickness and in Hell

_**Chapter 3**_

_**In Sickness and in Hell**_

It's a brand new day. The sun is already poking out its fingers from behind the clouds and even though there is a gentle drizzle still, Daniel can tell it will be a beautiful day. He goes about his tasks as usual but his actions are automatic and his mind is in fact wandering elsewhere. What happened with Regina? Did she get back safe? Is she alright? He knows she won't be coming to tell him; she isn't allowed.

He has no clear idea of how he will find out but he's waiting for _something_ to happen. Lady Cora storming into the stable fuming with rage would be answer enough. What if she doesn't though? Will it be safe to assume she knows nothing? Not quite, Daniel frowns. It might just mean Regina chose to lie about her whereabouts at night, perhaps to keep him out of trouble. He doesn't like either option.

If only there was something he could actually do! He knows there's nothing; if he were to snoop around he might just bring a disaster on their heads instead of helping things. So he goes the hard way and does nothing, except for what he is supposed to do and what he always does. He tends to the horses, dutifully and thoroughly as usual; but his mind continues to linger about the Mills mansion.

Later in the morning, as Daniel is hauling in a fresh bale of straw, he catches a glimpse of Regina's father, kindly, tame Master Henry, setting off for his regular morning walk. Regina sometimes walks with him. Not today.

Around midday, a horse is sent for. Daniel's father gets the fastest ones ready with utmost urgency. Daniel is nervous to ask but he can't resist; his father, however, doesn't know any more than him about who the rider will be or where they are headed. After the horse is ready and led out, Daniel peers from behind the door to see a tall man swing a leg above the horse's back and hurriy off, his messenger's cape billowing behind him.

Why would they send an urgent messenger?

Why would an urgent messenger worry him so?

The Mills residence bustles with life as usual, busy servants coming and going. Is it just him or is there tension in the air? There's no one to ask because they all work around the house or inside, apart from him. He is confined to the stables; the stables are his domain.

Later in the afternoon, a carriage rattles along the stone pathway. Daniel looks around for an excuse to leave the stables to see the newcomer and decides the bucket will do. Not that the horses need fresh water right now but he may as well bring some anyway. When he spots the carriage, his heart sinks: it belongs to none other than the doctor.

In his heart, Daniel knows, even though he has no rational way of knowing it with such certainty, that the doctor has been summoned for Regina.

* * *

Regina is awake. She's pretty sure she is. She hears them talking, in her room, in hushed voices, then raised voices. Actually, just one raised voice. Mama, she wants to say. Mama, I've been good… I'll be good… I've been here all night. But no words come out, and the voices seem to slowly fade away, too. Her nightgown is drenched. She isn't cold, though. In fact, she's burning up.

She sees the bright ball of the sun on the white-hot sky. She feels it sending liquid arrows of gold into her heated body. Her skin prickles. Her mouth is so dry, and her head swims. She walks on, dragging her feet. The landscape is barren; there are no trees, no bushes, no life. She's burning up. Water…!

How did she get here in the first place? Last thing she remembers she was crawling out of bed to dress for breakfast – she mustn't be late. There will be water at breakfast, won't there? Apple juice, she remembers. She always has apple juice.

What is that thing there, on the horizon? It's coming closer, not just because she's walking towards it but because it is moving as well, all by itself. She knows that door. She knows what - and whom - she will find behind it. She perks up. It's the way out; it's where the emptiness ends. She pushes the heavy door open and steps through the threshold. It's not what she thought.

This isn't the stables, Regina realises, confused. She rubs her forehead, thinking. It hurts. The sun goes out. It's all dark and stuffy now. The balls of her feet are burning. She shuffles her feet a little. The floor puts up a fight but not too much of it. It's a mushy, slimy floor. How strange…isn't it supposed to be mud? Suddenly, it dawns on her. She's in a dragon's belly. Imprisoned. Instead of the comfort of the stables, she is confined to the dragon's prison of a belly.

Unless the dragon belches, she thinks, and giggles. It's something Daniel came up with, when she told him about how the dragon would swallow her every now and then, in dreams and waking both. Imagine it belching, he said, spitting you back out into freedom; and it would make her laugh and forget the daunting image of the beast's belly. She giggles, and amazingly, the dragon gives a mighty belch, spitting her up, and she is flying, tumbling, falling… There comes Mama's voice, booming around her, reprimanding her for being anywhere near a belch because who's ever heard of a lady belching?

The darkness gives way to light again. Hey…that's…that's a well, right? She drags herself to the stone circle. There is no bucket, nothing to help her quench her thirst. Daniel has the bucket; he's bringing water for the horses. He'll let her have a drink first. But…if this isn't the stables, is Daniel even here? She buries her head in her hands to shut out the red-hot sunlight. She can still see it at the back of her eyelids but something much stranger is happening now…

Rivulets of water start trickling from her hands, weaving their way in between her fingers. Strange, she wonders, she never realised she'd started crying. She feels the fresh droplets cool her forehead; a few even find their way onto her chapped lips. It's not salty; they're not tears after all. How nice, she thinks. How nice. She's not burning anymore. Thanks, Daddy, she tries to say, for somehow she knows it is his doing even though she sees him nowhere around. The well is overflowing with water, too, spilling, wave after wave crashing at her feet. She's standing on the edge of a lake, smooth waves brush her ankles. Stray sprays of water hit her face. Cool. Pleasant, for as long as it lasts.

She blinks, and when her eyes fly open again, she sees the lake has changed; it's frozen now, covered by a thin sheet of glossy ice. Her feet are freezing; she's standing there in the middle of the vast coat of ice, barefoot. But…isn't it supposed to be mud? She looks down to check and stares at her own reflection, perfectly clear-cut with sharp edges. A mirror. She's standing on top of an icy mirror. Regina, for crying out loud, would you care to dress more ladylike for once? But, Mama… I'm so cold, she whispers noiselessly. The chill slowly permeates her entire body. What if the ice were to crack? Will she be covered in icy water? Or is she already? She's trembling with cold.

A fiery ball appears underneath her feet. Her eyes hurt. All the brightness…the ice…the sun. It melts the ice and turns the lake fluid; the sun shines on, strong and bright, and the lake rises in a veil of vapour until all the water is gone, and it turns back into a desert. The door materialises in the distance. Then it's gone, the door and the sun, and everything freezes over again. Fire. Ice. Fire. Ice. Scaly beast bellowing with its belly empty. Crack of sunlight. Cracks in the ice. Cracking mirror. The flooring's gone from under her feet.

She's falling… plummeting into blackness. She isn't afraid of it, quite the contrary. It's neither hot nor cold, but pleasantly tepid, and all the voices - Mama, Daddy, Daniel, and the ones she doesn't recognise - are far off in the distance. She wants to reach the heart of this pleasant darkness as soon as possible; there she will rest, there she will dream. And when she returns, she'll be back from the desert, free from the dragon, rid of the shards of ice cutting through her skin; she'll be in her bed, and the stables will really be on the other side of the stable door, just where they belong.

* * *

It is all Daniel can do not to give in to despair these days. Regina has been suffering from high fevers for days and there seems to be no end to it. His father tells him one afternoon, with both of them busy at saddling a quick horse for the messenger, like they did every time Regina's fever went too high up and another dose of rare and costly medicine had to be brought in from the town. This happens much too often for Daniel's liking; indeed he feels they do little else but send off urgent messengers.

Life at the Mills residence, busy as it always is, now sees the servants increasingly hard at work trying to fulfil every wish and whim of the lady of the house. Lady Cora's temper grows shorter as Regina's illness drags on. Once in a while a man calls, some on her request, some not: a healer, a mage, a quack. All of them fail to deliver and disappear without trace, leaving a dangerously enraged Lady Cora behind. Master Henry seems to have suffered an utter loss of heart; he roams the rooms and hallways of the house instead of his usual walks in the fields, staying close to his daughter at all times. Lady Cora scowls, Master Henry prowls, charlatans come and go; but the old learned doctor has never left the Mills household since the day he arrived; in fact, he has hardly even left Regina's room at all.

Yet in the warm moonlit night, as Daniel wanders in the meadows around the mansion, he stumbles upon the hunched figure of the doctor taking a night-time stroll as well. He only hesitates for a split second before he approaches the man. Before he can think of the right way to strike up a conversation, the doctor wheels around to face him, making Daniel jump a little. "Ah, boy, it is I who ends up frightening you in the end? So sorry," the doctor smiles crookedly. The smile is nowhere near enough to conceal his exhaustion. In the bright light of tonight's full moon, Daniel notices his drooping eyelids and hollow cheeks, and the man's look scares him – it's the toll for the string of days and nights spent keeping ward over his little patient. He can almost feel himself tremble for her.

"I…couldn't sleep," Daniel mutters. "What are you doing out here?" He says without thinking, only then realising how rude he sounds. The doctor makes no reproach though.

"Would that I could rest my head on a pillow. But alas, this is a remarkable night, the only time to gather some of the most powerful healing herbs." Indeed, his linen satchel is half full of plants delicate as well as robust.

"Will those help Regina heal?"

The doctor studies him for a moment. Daniel endures his scrutinising stare. Now is his chance to ask, and who better to ask than the wise man himself?

"I will do all that is in my power for the little lady, as I have been doing. She must do her part though. She must fight to wake, to heal."

Daniel's eyes grow wide with wonder.

"But…surely you can help her? You're a doctor after all!"

The doctor looks sadder, and wearier, and older than Daniel has ever seen him, or cares to see him, for that matter.

"Medicine only heals the body, boy, remember that. Healing the soul, too, now that's the real challenge."

Daniel bows his head. He finds it hard to come to terms with; this isn't the answer he was seeking to hear. He wanted to hear she was well, or getting better at least, or going to. He wanted the doctor to reassure him, and now he only feels more confused, and more worried than ever. His eyes sting all of a sudden.

Desperately, he blurts out: "How can she be helped, then? How can I help?"

The doctor scrutinises him even more intently than the first time. Oddly enough, Daniel seems to detect a hint of a smile on the old man's face for a passing moment. When he speaks at last, he sounds a bit surprised himself.

"Indeed, perhaps there is something you can do. You seem more…concerned…than the average servant of the family, let me say, although gods know they are all rather loath to see the young lady so miserable, and her mother so…agitated."

"They won't let me see her," Daniel sighs, hanging his head. "I never chanced to ask but they definitely wouldn't."

"Perhaps not. I, on the other hand, spend much time at her bedside. Perhaps a token of friendship to remind her of what's awaiting once awake would do some good. By the sound of it, the poor child spends day and night in company of raging elements and dastardly beasts. I'm sure you'll be able to think of something more cheerful. "

Daniel surveys him, wondering if the doctor is merely leading him on. He decides he has no reason to. His eyes light up with recognition. "Did you say beasts?"

"Just so. You seem to be able to make some kind of sense of this?"

Daniel smiles faintly, his mind busy at work.

"Meet me tomorrow when the regular messenger rides out. I will take the token to the little lady, whatever it may be."

* * *

Daniel has no thought of sleep after he and the doctor part ways. If the doctor says full moon gives power to herbs, this will probably be the case with all plants, he muses. He will need all the power to help Regina heal, and all the luck to find the plant he wants – it's early yet, late spring doesn't have them bloom. Yet Daniel is intent upon finding one by dawn. After hours of searching the most likely places, he does. There it is, by the furthest well of the Mills grounds, basking in full moonlight: the first early blossom this year, radiant with crimson petals and bright yellow highlights.

The following morning, as he hands the flower over to the doctor – wrapped in the finest piece of cloth he could find to temper its poisonous qualities before it can be placed in a vase – the doctor recognises it immediately.

"Helenium," he says pensively, watching Daniel closely.

"Sneeze weed," Daniel nods. He can tell the man doesn't understand, yet he nods at the boy and returns to his patient, taking the flower with him without further inquiries.

On the way back to the stables, Daniel sends a silent plea in the direction of Regina's window. The thought of the flower makes his tensed face relax a little, and he smiles. The wise doctor might not understand about the meaning of sneeze weed, nor would anyone else - but Regina will.

Maybe it can at least make Regina's dragons sneeze, if not belch.


	4. A Canter Is a Cure

_**Chapter 4**_

_**A Canter Is a Cure**_

Whether it is the sneeze weed's doing or not, the illness slowly releases its grip on Regina's tortured body. When the fever finally recedes, it is gone as abruptly as it came. One morning, as the sun hits the curtain and throws a lace-scattered beam across her face, Regina opens her eyes. Her eyelashes flutter from the sudden blinding light so intense after the darkness she's accustomed to. With considerable effort, she raises a shaky hand to shelter her eyes and surveys the room. A silhouette of a man with his back to her is etched against the opposite wall of the room, busy at a bowl atop her ornate wardrobe. Regina squints up at him, puzzled.

"Who are you? Where is everyone? What happened to me?" The words feel awkward in her mouth, her tongue reluctant to obey, as if it had forgotten how to form words.

The man turns and a warm smile spreads across his weary face.

"Good morning, child. You have been a long time sleeping. I will get your mother and father presently. First, tell me how you feel."

Regina ponders the question for a while. "Tired," she says finally, wondering how that can be if she slept so much.

"The fever has left you weak. It will be a while before you regain all your strength. Does it hurt anywhere?"

She shakes her head weakly.

"Very well. I will let you see your parents before you go back to rest." He makes for the door as he speaks.

"Wait!" Regina gasps as her eyes linger on the vase on her bedside table. "Please," she adds. "Who brought me this?"

"Ah…the sneeze weed. Your young friend the stable boy had me bring it in for you."

* * *

The morning Regina opens her eyes, the whole household knows within moments – Master Henry makes sure they do, running from one to another with a half-finished toast in his hand like an overenthusiastic child, sharing the big news gleefully. The stables are no exception.

Daniel has the ill luck of working inside the stables when the overjoyed Master Henry reaches them, and so it is his father outside who is told the good news instead. Or perhaps it is a good thing, really; the happy dance he starts when his brain processes the words he overhears from behind the door, complete with punching the air and jumping up and down bales of hay, would surely bring about raised eyebrows of not odd questions. At least Daniel would get to ask for details about Regina's health. Then again, he could be stupid enough to blurt out a request to see her – yes, he definitely would have, and that would have seemed fishy even to guileless Master Henry. But see her he must! The plan appears to just pop into his mind all ready. Patience, on the other hand, is scarce, and the day drags on and on mercilessly.

When dusk finally sets in, Daniel is long finished with the day's work. He dare not wait for complete darkness lest Regina should be asleep already. He's resolved not to wake her if she does; she needs her sleep now, to grow strong again, he doesn't need to be a doctor to know that. He'd prefer her awake though, to be able to talk to her – not too long, so as not to fatigue her; just for a bit. He knows where her window is – he spent many a day stealing a glance at its direction while she lay ill. He makes a broad bend around the house so as not to attract too much attention, pretending to merely be taking an evening stroll. Seeing no one around, he eventually runs the grassy length between him and the wall, trying to keep as quiet as possible while at the same time crossing the distance as fast as possible. Luckily, the window is open to let in the balmy evening air. Panting slightly, more from suspense than strain, he crouches under the windowsill and presses his back against the wall, listening.

"…no dragons left in these parts, child. You'll be fine now, won't you?"

"Yes, Daddy. I'm very sleepy. I just hope I don't dream this time."

"Kiss goodnight for my little girl?" The sheets rustle. Regina giggles a little.

"Good night, Daddy," she calls as the door clicks close behind him.

Daniel takes a deep breath and chances a quick look over the windowsill. The room is empty. He spots Regina's bed, and Regina in it, the flame of the candle on her bedside table throwing a golden light across her dark hair. The sight makes a happy bubble grow in his stomach.

"Regina," he calls in a hushed voice.

The sheets move somewhat, then lay motionless.

"It's me. Daniel."

Slowly, Regina props herself up on her elbows, until her head emerges from above the bulk of sheets, her pale face turned to the window.

"Daniel?" she whispers, unsure, unable to make out his face against the darkening sky outside. "Is it really you?"

"You're awake! You're really awake! Finally! I was so worried!" His words come as an urgent whisper, for he dare not raise his voice.

"I'm so glad you came," she whispers back, and somehow he can hear the smile in her voice as well as see it. "Thanks so much for the flower."

"Did it help? Did it chase the dragon away?"

"How did you know there was a dragon?"

"I don't know…I just thought there might be," he shrugs, grinning all the time – he just can't help himself.

"I'm sure it helped," she mutters earnestly. "Because there was a dragon, and now it's gone, and the flower's here, so it must have been it."

"I'm glad," he breathes. "I felt terrible, and couldn't do anything, and I kept thinking about how you ran out in that storm and got so ill, and I couldn't even come see you, and…I'm sorry," he finishes miserably.

Regina's eyes widen with surprise.

"But…none of that is your fault!" she exclaims, almost failing to keep her voice down. Seeing his head still hanging low, an idea crosses her mind that makes her smile. "You actually saved me from a dragon, you know."

He chuckles. "I guess so, in a way." Then, serious again: "Will you be alright now?"

"I'm tired all the time. But the doctor told me that was normal, so I guess it'll pass."

"He's a good doctor. He's helped Dad, too. And he brought the sneeze weed, too, when I -"

He stops abruptly. Regina hears it too – some noise from the hallway.

"I'd better go now," he whispers, and rummages in his pocket as he speaks.

"Will you come back?" she asks with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"When it's safe," he nods and reaches in, placing something inside. "Sleep well - no dragons," he adds, and before she can answer, he's gone.

Too weak to sit any longer, Regina falls back onto the pillows, and turns to look at the withering sneeze weed before she closes her eyes, which puts a smile on her lips. Only when she wakes to full sunlight the following morning does she notice the yellow yarrow resting by the window.

* * *

Days pass without Daniel's voice ringing out from beyond the window again. She understands why even though she misses him – nowadays, there always seems to be someone in the room with her at all times, as if she needed to be kept company. In fact, she likes to sleep more than anything, and has little energy to spare for socialising. Daddy comes often, she knows, oftentimes she is aware of his presence but too sleepy to respond when he talks to her. Mama also comes, and rains new and new orders on the servants before she leaves again, never happy enough with how Regina is being taken care of. The nice old doctor is gone now, with instructions left, and medicine. Most of it tastes foul.

Yet it is not the medicine giving her the most trouble; strangely, she cannot seem to force much else in the way of food down her throat. The other day, the cook left reduced to tears, for Regina could not bear to touch the stew brought to her; Regina suspects Mama tells the poor woman off when she brings back Regina's plate almost untouched. So she tries and tries, often just for the sake of the good cook, but food just seems a task beyond her power these days. Perhaps it's the lack of food in her belly that makes her feel so weak; in fact, she thinks she has hardly grown any stronger since the day she woke. Soon, her poor health stirs renewed concern in the Mills household. An urgent messenger leaves the next morning, and the old doctor arrives by midday.

"…surrounded by idiots," Regina wakes with a jerk to the sound of Mama's voice. "The theories they spin… The bright ideas they come up with!" The door flies open and there's Mama, looking as angry as she sounds. Regina swallows anxiously, wondering what's to come. "Ah, you're up, dear," Mama attempts a smile, she can see, but anger remains etched on her face. At least she knows she's not the cause of it though. She breathes a little lighter.

"Doctor, do be so kind, examine her and give me your counsel. I do hope it will be of more use than the one I've been receiving. It must do, surely. Do you know what the latest one has been? To let the child take on horse riding! It strengthens the body, builds character, he says. My stable hand gives those horses of his more credit than can be accounted for."

While Mama rants on, the doctor examines Regina wordlessly, all the while watching her face. When Mama speaks about the horses and how someone suggested riding could help her, her cheeks flush and eyes light up. She opens her mouth, then shuts it again, and hangs her head; she remembers the rejection of before her illness, and knows better than to press the subject. Mama never relents. The doctor continues to watch her silently, waiting for Mama to finish venting her anger.

"So?" Mama demands. "What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing," he says simply.

"What do you mean, nothing? Then why doesn't she eat? Or walk? This is insanity; the child sleeps all the time!"

"What I mean to say," the doctor replies calmly, "is that there is physically nothing wrong with her. She needs to grow strong, this won't happen by itself. She needs to stir her souls as well – she's been isolated for way too long." Then, turning to Regina: "Say, child, how would you like to go out on horseback?"

"Excuse me, doctor, what is this nonsense with horses? A stable hand I understand, but from the mouth of a learned man?"

"My lady," the doctor speaks up with a faint hint of a smile – is the man crazy, Regina wonders, to provoke Mama so? "I understand your concern. I have spoken to your groom myself, and he has explained to me the benefits of horseback riding, which seem to be plentiful and rewarding. In any case, he is a master of his profession. I strongly recommend considering the option, if the young lady is willing to try."

"Nonsense!" she hisses. "I won't have any more of this madness," she turns on her heel and storms out before Regina can even open her mouth in protest. If she dared protest, that is, or had the energy to.

* * *

That night, Regina doesn't sleep much or well. From across the hallway, she can hear her parents fighting. Frightened and fighting back tears, she curls up under the sheets, pulling the pillow over her head to block out the shouting and striving to make out the words in turns.

"…surrounded by fools, and married to the biggest one of all!" Mama's voice thunders.

"It is the child's best interest we must keep in mind," Daddy retorts wearily, yet with zest. He rarely raises his voice, never at Regina in any case. Mostly, he seems to think it best to not talk back to Mama. Yet now he does, and Regina knows to expect a thunderstorm worse than the one that made her ill, a rare and mighty one, for if Mama hates anything more than anyone talking back to her, it's Daddy talking back to her.

"And just what do you think I'm doing? Do you think I fail to see what you're trying to do? She wanted to ride, and I forbid it! I won't change my mind just because you stage some mummer's show, thinking I won't see through it!"

"There's nothing to see through! I just want our daughter to return to her normal self, to run and laugh again, like normal children!"

"But she's not a normal child! She's supposed to be more! How dare you meddle in my upbringing!"

"Cora, for heaven's sake, I don't meddle! You do as you please, and I let you, and we both despise me for it," he finishes quietly, making it hard for Regina to hear. "…but this once, I will not let your pride get in the way of our daughter's recovery. She wants to ride, and the doctor himself recommends it. Now just give it a try."

There is a bang, and then – silence. Regina barely breathes. Nothing moves. Did anything happen to Daddy? If Mama got really mad, things could get rough… The silence lingers in the air, heavy and oppressive. Regina forces herself to draw deep breaths, straining to hear, but no sound comes, for a long time. Eventually, she falls into a heavy sleep, curled up and hugging the corner of her blanket.

She wakes to the curtains being drawn, and blinks to see Mama standing by her bed. "You'll get dressed and eat some breakfast," she tells her in a strained voice. "Then, your father will take you outside and keep you company while you have your first riding lesson."

Regina nods serenely, not daring risk a smile, hardly believing her luck. On the inside, however, she is laughing, jumping, flying.

* * *

The air has never been sweeter, the grass greener, the sky more spotless, than the moment Regina finally leaves the house after her long confinement, holding Daddy's hand and leaning on him for support - even the short walk is proving a challenge. Daniel's father is already waiting for them nearby, chewing on a long stalk of grass he throws away as soon as he spots them. He moves to meet them, a good-hearted smile softening his windswept features. Regina's only ever seen him from afar before but they've never properly met. His hair is just like Daniel's, she notices now; the exact same colour, only streaked grey here and there. Shame Daniel isn't here, she thinks as they approach.

"Good morning, sir," she smiles, anticipation showing on her face, and hops a little, pulling Daddy by the hand.

"Good morning, Miss Mills, a pleasure to see you, and well again at that. We can drop the sir, if you don't mind, the name is Edric."

"I'm Regina," she reaches out to shake his hand. "Let's drop the miss," she adds with an innocent grin.

"Regina it is, then," Edric agrees, shaking her little hand in his large one earnestly, his amusement confined to his eyes only. "Let's get started."

Regina nods vigorously, positively shaking with excitement. She follows Edric around the corner, now almost dragging Daddy behind her, her tiredness quite forgotten. There he is, the horse, dark and shiny, with a spot of white here and there: a white sock on his left front leg and a wide milky blaze down his face; he carries the supple leather saddle with utmost ease. A real horse, not the pony she was expecting - a real horse!

"Do you like him?" Daddy asks. "Edric and young Daniel picked him with special care."

"I love him! Look how smooth his coat is, isn't he beautiful? He's the most beautiful horse ever!" she exclaims, patting the horse the way she knows they like it.

"It's settled then. He's yours," Daddy says with the broad smile she loves so much, the kind that makes his eyes twinkle and wrinkle into little fans trimmed by a bushy set of eyebrows. She runs up to him and throws himself around his neck, kissing him on the cheek. "Daddy, Daddy - thank you!" she whispers, out of breath – so much is happening after weeks of idleness, it makes her realise again how frail she's grown. This time, though, she resolves to put an end to it.

* * *

Daddy sits on a bench and watches as Edric leads the horse into the enclosure, Regina at his heels.

"Before you sit a horse, there's at least a few things you need to know about them first," Edric turns to her. Regina looks up at him triumphantly. "I already know some," she says proudly, and begins to tell him all the things she's learnt from Daddy, their old groom, and, most of all, Daniel – though of course this she doesn't tell: she knows things about brushing, feeding, shoeing, and tacking up; she even tells the perplexed groom how she's always loved watching horses talk with their ears, turning and tilting them as they please. Surprise gives way to silent attention, and eventually a well-content smile on Edric's lips.

"I can see now our lessons will be a joy for both of us," he says when she finishes her excited rant. "Not many people appreciate the true value of horses. Your father," he gestures towards Henry, " understands though, and so do you, it seems." "Daddy used to be a great rider," Regina says reverently. "But that was before he hurt his leg." Edric nods earnestly.

"Here, now lead him, walk with him," he places the lead rope in her hand. Regina does, and to Edric's surprise more than her own, the horse obeys instantly. Regina gives him an affectionate pat now and then as they continue around the enclosure.

"You know a lot about horses, and will learn a lot more, but do you also know they have the ability to heal?"

"You mean…like magic?" Regina asks incredulously. Mama has magic, but Regina isn't crazy about it at all.

"No, not magic…although you might call it magical. If you're able to make a connection, they strengthen the body and uplift the soul. Even though some people don't realise."

"Like Mama. She doesn't believe they can do it, does she? She didn't want to let me ride, not even when the doctor told her I should be allowed."

Edric glances at her sideways, never changing his pace. He remains quiet for a while, weighing his words.

"Perhaps your mother doesn't have the faith in horses I do, but she wants the best for you, or she wouldn't have agreed in the end as she did. Your parents are both worried plenty for you."

"Both of them?" she asks softly. Daniel's father surveys her curiously.

"In their own ways," he nods.

There's a silence only interrupted by the rhythmical thump – thumping of horseshoe hitting grass. Eventually, Edric turns to Regina. "Let's get you on that horse now, Regina."

He helps her up, holding the rope tightly in his hand, placing the reins in hers… And once she's up in the saddle, the world is changed, and she owns it! Her hair swirls softly in the warm breeze, her cheeks flushed, her eyes laughing, a grin glued to her face. Never has there been a feeling more exalting: nothing matters in the saddle, it's just her and the horse, high above the world and unreachable to its troubles.

It's over way too soon, but Regina continues to glow as Edric helps her slide down the horse's back again. "Thank you," she breathes to him, as if the sparkle in her eyes didn't speak for itself. She presses her cheek against the horse: "See you tomorrow," she whispers. Soon enough, when she's stronger, she will be able to not only ride, but take care of her horse as well, and she can hardly wait.

Regina eyes Edric thoughtfully, opens her mouth as if to speak, then shuts it again. Daddy waves at her merrily from his bench. Regina starts in his direction. After a few steps though, she turns back abruptly and the question tumbles out of her mouth: "How is Daniel?" "Why, he's well, thanks for asking," he says somewhat mechanically. Then, with a slight twitch of the corner of his mouth, he adds: "You'll be seeing more of him later in my stead, when your riding improves."

With a broad smile on her face, Regina nods and despite her exhaustion breaks into a short run to where Daddy stands waiting. "Daddy! It was wonderful! Just wonderful! I can't wait to do it again!" She continues to chatter away animatedly all the while as she drags Daddy towards the mansion. "Will lunch be long? I'm as hungry as a wolf!"


	5. My Fair Stable Boy

_Author's Note: I'm sorry I don't update as often as I would like to – a busy life won't always let me get behind the computer, and when it does, half the time my back refuses to obey after all the sitting it's done at work. Thank you for all the Favourites, Follows, and Reviews – they mean am awful lot to me and definitely keep me going. Enjoy the new chapter!_

_**Chapter 5**_

_**My Fair Stable Boy**_

It's a hot stuffy day. The air stands still, not a leaf moves outside the window. A bee hums at Regina's ear and drifts away lazily; apparently, even she is too overwhelmed by the heat to work. Yet they will have her sit around inside and listen to the drone of her wizened tutor's voice, repeating cumbersome grammatical formulas until kingdom come.

Regina's gaze wanders towards the window. Far off, she can see the stable. There he is: Daniel, looking tiny in the distance, and a dark shape of a horse beside him. Even from afar, Regina can tell he is tacking up. She sighs softly. Would that she, too, could ride out in the richly green meadows and rippling fields of grain; stir a little breeze, soak up a little sun. On a long school day like this one, there is no time for outings though; only for grammar, mathematics, rhetoric, logic, music and needlework later in the afternoon. Daniel, on the other hand, is free…

"Miss Mills, please," the tutor intrudes upon her daydreaming with a hint of impatience in his voice. "The verb conjugation paradigm, if you would."

"Oh…yes… Please excuse my tardiness," she bows her head. He's demanding but fair, and reports to Mama on a regular basis about the progress she makes. He hardly has cause to complain - Regina is a diligent, conscientious student, if somewhat dismissive of certain matters she deems unworthy of her time, or anyone else's, for that matter. She prefers literature to dry grammar rules, so the tutor has commenced using this to their advantage by illustrating grammar at its practical use, and engages her in reading books large and small. Aware of this concession, she feels abashed and ashamed of her negligence, and begins to recite the conjugation rules immediately, delivering them impeccably.

"Very well, Miss Mills. We are done for the day. I believe you have started the book, now proceed with it, and finish it within the week. Do not forget to practise the rhetorical exercises daily. Remember to complete the algebra homework, and -"

The door flies open.

"Lady Cora," the tutor bows as Mama sweeps in.

"I believe you were just finishing?"

"Indeed."

"How is my daughter doing? Working hard I hope?"

Regina bites her lip anxiously. Does Mama know? How could she? Before the tutor has the chance to answer, Mama ushers him out: "We will be expecting you next week at the usual time."

"Farewell, Lady Cora. Miss Mills," he gathers his possessions and leaves without further ado, pulling the door closed behind him.

"Regina, dear, look at me." Regina looks. "Is there anything you have to tell me?" Regina swallows. _She knows_, she thinks desperately. "I… It's so hot today, Mama, it was just hard to concentrate." "I assume you'd prefer roaming the countryside on horseback, would you?" She tries to keep her face straight but she knows Mama can read the truth in her eyes.

"How many times do I have to tell you? You are privileged to have the chance at education you have. I have searched high and low for suitable tutors. You will have an education worth a lady, surpassing that of many in fact. I will have it no other way; I will have no less for you. But you have to cooperate."

"But I do," Regina blurts out at the sheer unfairness of the rebuke. "I am a good pupil; all my exercises were without mistake today! I even read extra!" "I know, dear," Mama replies and strokes her cheek. "Still, we can't afford low concentration. You must always, always do your best, do you understand?" Regina nods dejectedly.

"You will practise an extra hour at the piano today. The governess is ill and not coming, so I will oversee that you do it properly. You will also work on your needlework afterwards. I am told your stitches are still wanting." Regina keeps silent. She hates needlework, especially of late; she's finding it hard to sit still, stooped over canvas with needle in hand for long hours, when the prospect of enjoying the great outdoors has so much more appeal. She knows better than to say this out loud, of course. She thanks her lucky starts that she doesn't have to learn spinning as well, as most girls do; Mama seems to have an inexplicable aversion to spinning and has forbidden it resolutely.

Mama ponders her for a while. This time, she detects nothing suspicious on Regina's face, to Regina's relief. "If you do well, I will arrange some extra time with that horse of yours later tonight." That's almost too good to be true, coming from Mama, especially after a scolding – albeit a gentle one, but still a scolding. "Oh, Regina, why the disbelief? I am no monster." Inexplicably, Regina suddenly feels somehow bad for her. "Thank you, Mama!" She leans over and plants a swift kiss on Mama's cheek, which brings a complacent smile on Cora's face.

* * *

The music and needlework seem interminable, and more so under Mama's watchful eye; but at length, it's over, and Regina spills out onto the lawn and heads for the stables in the blinding light of the soon-to-set sun. Daniel is already waiting. "Has Mama told you I'd be coming?" "Yes, she asked me to have your horse ready. We can set off straight away." So they do; Regina on her chestnut, Daniel on a bay, riding leisurely into the setting sun.

Yet something seems amiss. Regina casts many a sideways glance at him before she finally breaks the silence, which she senses is not the usual comfortable kind: "Daniel? Is everything alright?" Daniel's eyes meet hers for a split second but then he goes back to staring straight ahead.

"I tried to finish the embroidery as fast as possible but I was afraid the stitches will be too messy if I worked too fast, then I wouldn't have been allowed to come at all," she offers uncertainly. The whole thing seems foolish as she speaks it. "I hate needlework," she adds bitterly. "The other stuff is alright mostly but I can still think of more fun things to do, especially on lovely days like this one. You're so lucky to be rid of school."

Instead of cheering up, Daniel smiles a sad smile. "I wish I were still getting schooled," he sighs.

"But – why? And…why don't you? I thought you'd gone to school – you can read and write after all."

"Yes, I mostly learned from my Dad as we were always on the move. He taught me my letters. Not every stable hand knows how to read and write – in fact, most don't. But my Dad wanted me to learn as much as I could; to get a job with a good family, it helps. When we came here, Master Henry promised I would be allowed to go to the village school." Her puzzled look brings him to a halt. "You know, when someone from the small folk wants their children to be schooled, they need to have the lord of the manor's permission."

"I didn't know that," she admits. "So since Daddy agreed, you can go, can't you?"

"Not anymore. There's always work to keep me busy. I can't shun the work."

Regina stared ahead into the sun. "But…that's no good," she mutters. "If you want to learn, you should be allowed to. Mama says so, too. That's why she is so strict about it, Daddy says. Girls mostly just get the needlework and music and the letters part. I don't always like all the work or all the stuff – some of it is just ridiculous," she says thoughtfully, "but I wouldn't care for it if someone tried to stop me from learning."

Daniel nods solemnly. "But that's not all. Lady Cora doesn't approve of you spending time with someone so…unrefined."

Regina frowns. "That sounds like a word Mama would use. She cares a great deal about manners – but yours are fine! And like you said, you're a lot more educated than most stable boys!"

Her indignation is so clear Daniel cannot help but smile. "I don't think that's the part she has a problem with," he explains patiently. "I'm fine to be around the horses. I'm just not supposed to be around you too much. I guess she thinks you should find friends from higher circles. More…cultured." Daniel finishes bitterly. He continues staring ahead seemingly, whereas in reality, he keeps stealing glances at Regina's face, waiting for her reaction.

Her cheeks redden at his words. "No one is ever good enough for her anyway," Regina fumes," besides, I don't want any other friends! I like spending time with you!"

Daniel perks up at her words, and the sincerity with which she delivers them. He reads the anguish written on her face more clearly than letters in any book – anguish at losing her friend, he understands. "Me too," he returns. "I guess we just need to hope she doesn't see us together too often. I'm going to ask Dad if he could give me some more lessons after work in the evenings. Or get me a book. It's not much, but it's worth a try."

"I have books," Regina replies with a curious expression on her face. "I have a tutor as well. You could learn all that I learn. The important stuff, at least. Mama need not know I'm teaching you – best if no one does. We can learn together - I will teach you!"

Radiant, Regina eyes him with expectation. A broad smile plays on Daniel's face, revealing an eagerness to match hers. "Race you to that hill over there?" Regina is up for the challenge; and so their pact is sealed.

* * *

"P-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p-p!" Regina chants with an impish grin on her mock-serious face. Daniel clutches his stomach, doubled up with laughter in the saddle. "No laughing, young man, aspirating your Ps correctly is a matter of grave importance!" she wags a reprimanding finger at him, fighting to keep her face straight, then collapses in fits of laughter herself.

When their laughter subsides, Regina's face emerges from the chestnut's mane, tears in her eyes. "Cardinal rule number two: never drop your Hs! Repeat after me: In Heart Fort, Hare-a-ford, and Hamshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen," she delivers pompously.

Daniel chuckles. "What's the deal with the weather? Hurricanes and rain in the plain?"

"Oh, there are others as well. More fun, too, these tongue twisters can be. Such as… A skunk sat on a stump and thunk the stump stunk, but the stump thunk the skunk stunk."

"I'm quite sure 'thunk' is not a word fit for a lady. In fact, it's not even a real word," Daniel teases, tongue in his cheek.

The smallest, most fleeting of frowns crosses Regina's face, then to be replaced by relief as the intended joke sinks in. "Oh really? How about this then?" She raises her chin majestically, playing the part: "The seething seas ceaseth and twiceth the seething seas sufficeth us. Shall this be deemed sufficiently ladylike a speech?"

"I think it will do," he concedes with a smirk. After a moment's pause, he looks her in the face and adds, joking aside: "So will the skunk one, for me, ladylike or not. Everything goes as long as you stay, well – Regina."

In the shelter of the stable, hidden in a freshly cleaned box, Daniel sits squinting down at the diagrams drawn on the yellow piece of parchment. Regina is lying on her belly nearby, scribbling away on another creased sheet with a pointy red-feathered quill. Daniel shakes his head and sighs, looking up from his notes.

Regina raises her eyes from her homework. "What is it?"

"Well… I'm sorry, but this is a little silly. All these diagrams to tell you how plants are built, how they reproduce… Why not go outside, and learn by actually observing them instead?"

Puzzled, Regina bites the feathery end of the quill. "I see your point, but wouldn't that be a little impractical? It takes ages for a plant to do that, and some stages you can't even see. You'd never know all that just by seeing, and about so many different plants and animals, too."

"Maybe," he replies, unconvinced. "So you know more theory. But how about how things really work? Regina, have you ever tried planting something yourself? Do you know what it takes to make it grow, or the joy it brings when it does because you've been taking proper care of it?"

She lays down the crumpled quill pensively. Slowly, she shakes her head, bewildered by the validity of his argument.

"Wouldn't you like to try?"

When the seedling is ready, they have a nice place picked, sunny and loamy, on top of a hillock. Daniel toils away with the shovel until a planting hole wide and deep enough is dug, free of weeds and grass. Regina carefully carries the small plant over, holding it as gently as the most precious of treasures, and Daniel helps her place it carefully into the loosened soil.

"Make sure the roots are nicely spread out," he explains. She leans closer, her face focused, her forehead slightly creased, her nimble fingers separating and straightening the roots to her best ability. Their hands criss-cross around the fragile stem as they proceed to cover up the roots, pressing down to squeeze the air out. Daniel tips a small sack of straw over it for mulch, which Regina spreads out evenly in a wide circle around the plant.

"Is it alright so?" she asks anxiously.

He eyes the result and nods. "You can bring the watering can now."

Regina tilts the can slightly and pours a thin stream of water so as not to harm the young seedling. She waters it richly, then sets the empty can down. They both stand back to admire their work.

"I'll grow my own apples," Regina says incredulously. "It was just a tiny little seed once, and in time it will grow into a tall tree; we can sit in its shadow and eat the fruit off its branches." She smiles dreamily as Daniel puts an arm around her shoulder.

* * *

Birdsong floats in through the open window, and the receding sound of hooves and wheels on stone. She sets the quill aside, smiling to herself, and pushes the roll of parchment towards the tutor to check. He leans over the desk and studies the algebra exercise silently. The tutor turns to her. "What an interesting approach, Miss Mills, not the one I have taught you, but it seems to suit you better apparently. May I ask where you gathered it from?"

The grass and shrubs rustle outside the window – a dog maybe, or a bird, Regina thinks. Footsteps shuffle past on the corridor.

"I have been studying with a…" she hesitates, "…a friend."

"Oh, am I to understand you have been taking additional lessons?"

Regina shuffles on her chair uncomfortably. Is it safe to speak, and if so, how much can she tell?

"Actually, I have been teaching him. Algebra agrees with him more than it does with me."

"So you've both been profiting from it. I see. I trust he takes lessons from someone else then, this friend of yours?"

The pause in speech reveals no more sounds from without the room this time.

"No…he doesn't." She's treading on dangerous ground now, she feels, and begins to wish for a change of topic, desperately searching her mind for a suitable one.

"At all? Such a shame, he seems to have a good head on his shoulders, perhaps - "

The door swings open, making Regina's heart stop. What if it's Mama? Has she heard? But, the carriage – surely she's gone? But what if she's _heard_?

"Sorry to disturb you. Could I talk to my daughter for a moment?"

The tutor bows his head and departs.

"Daddy," Regina sighs with relief.

"You expected your mother, didn't you?" he asks with a knowing, perhaps a tad bitter, smile. His face soon acquires a worn, tired expression. "So you've been teaching Daniel, haven't you?"

She'd never lie to Daddy; there's nothing to fear, she knows, he'd never tell on her. She just nods wordlessly, looking up at him with anxious, hopeful eyes.

"I assume I know why… Are you afraid Cora will send him away?"

A shadow crosses Regina's face. Prevent them form seeing each other more than occasionally, that's all she fears; but the idea of sending him away is entirely new to her, and most unwelcome. "Send him away? She wouldn't, right, Daddy? He's my friend!" She pleads, more with her eyes than words, a sincere plea he cannot be indifferent to.

"I hope not. Just don't let her hear you call him your friend; you understand she would prefer for you to associate with different people."

"But you…?"

He draws a chair and sits down next to her, looking her in the eyes earnestly. "I have nothing in the world against him, or you teaching him, just as long as your mother doesn't know. Be careful."

Regina swallows. The weight of the secret has been bearing on her all the while but never has it felt so grave. Her thoughts linger on the tutor once more.

"Will Aldaric tell?"

"I'll talk to him, see that he doesn't."

Regina perks up a little, but still remains doubtful: "How?" Daddy's not the kind to threaten, and Mama, well, has a way of finding out things; so why would the tutor not tell? To her surprise, Daddy smiles.

"You heard him, didn't you? Here's a boy, with no schooling, who helps his top student with her algebra homework." Regina smiles a brief smile at the implied compliment. "A boy with a good head, with his potential being wasted. He's curious, and a teacher to the core; perhaps he'd like to meet him, perhaps even teach him – only when Cora is away of course. Perhaps I'll go and find out now." He stands up and tousles her hair affectionately.

Regina sits thoughtful as he approaches the door to leave. When his hand reaches for the handle, she jumps up, runs to him and places a swift kiss on his cheek. "Thanks, Daddy."

* * *

"More tea, dear?" Mama offers the steaming kettle.

"No, thank you. May I be excused?" Regina has a reading session planned with Daniel, far more appealing than the everyday business of tea and biscuits.

"You may, but make sure to finish your needlework tonight."

Regina slips out of the room, keen to be outdoors; the needlework would have to wait until later that day. Halfway along the hallway, she realises she's left the book in her room. She turns on her heel and starts back. Passing the tea-room, she catches Mama's voice, and the words make her stop in her tracks, press her ear against the door, and eavesdrop shamelessly.

"…heard the stable boy reciting a passage from a classic. I never would have expected it. The boy does have decent manners, I admit that much. I am a little pacified; he might not be quite the corrupting influence on Regina I had feared. We'd most likely hardly be able to find a more decent one, as stable boys go. I assume we got the best there is to have. On the subject of that new gardener, though…"

That's all Regina cares to hear though. Elated, she hops along the hallway merrily. For now, it seems they're safe.


	6. Picnic at Firefly Hill

___Author's Note: Here it is, a classic Stable Queen motif I think, but I just couldn't resist. I thought perhaps having Regina and Daniel have their picnic while there's no romantic involvement yet might add a little bit of a twist. I hope you'll enjoy!_

_**Chapter 6**_

_**Picnic at Firefly Hill**_

They've agreed to meet by the apple tree. When Daniel arrives with the horses, Regina is already there, diligently pulling clumps of cheeky weeds from the ground around the plant. "Do you need help?" "I'm all done," she replies after double-checking the circle she has cleared to see for left-over weeds. "Let's go." Regina fumbles with the wicker basket heavy with food; Daniel heaves it up and places it behind him, fastening it to the saddle. Regina does the same with the watering can, mounts her horse swiftly, and off they are.

The sky is a cloudy mess above their heads, the green field beside them sways in the gusts of wind, and their horses' hooves clatter dully on the sun-dried dirt-path. "Will there be rain?" Regina asks with her face turned skywards. "Perhaps. Would you mind if there were?" Daniel frowns slightly. Maybe they should turn back before they are too far off. Maybe Regina will prefer to. Maybe she should keep out of the rain – what if she gets ill again? _But it's hot now, unlike that night_, he argues in his head, _even if it rains it won't be dangerous_. They've been planning this day out for ages; a change of plan would be most unwelcome…

"I don't want to go back home," Regina flares up in answer to the implied question. "I've been looking forward to this too much! And Mama's away; who knows when we'd get a chance like this again. Besides, it's warm. And it might not even rain at all in the end," she glances at him and spurs the horse into a trot. "Come on, Rocinante! Hurry up!" she cries back to Daniel, who follows immediately, and off they trot towards the woods.

* * *

It is late afternoon by the time they climb the hill and reach a fairly wide open area overlooking the valley beneath. Clumps of trees and bushes grow scattered here and there. Regina rides out to the very edge and gasps at the sight. A long chunk of the valley strewn with small swells of hillocks, pools of water, and clusters of treetops stretches into the distance below. The clouds seem closer than ever as they race each other overhead. "Careful," Daniel cautions with a slight frown, yet he can't help but smile at her fascination. He dismounts and ties his horse to a nearby beech. After a moment, Regina follows his example, although her hands seem to shake a little from excitement.

"I can't believe we're here," she breathes out. "And can you believe how wonderful this place is? Look at the view!" She positively hops about. Smiling ever wider, Daniel pulls the basket off the saddle and sets it down to the trunk of a maple. Watching Regina beam down at the valley unfolding before them as far as the eye can see, he retrieves a blanket from his saddlebag and spreads it out in the shade of the maple, weighing it down with the cloth-covered basket. Regina still seems wholly unconcerned with the picnic, her full attention on the splendid view alone. _Like a bird_, he thinks, _free at last from the golden cage_.

When Regina finally joins him on the blanket, the thought still lingers with him. "How long till your mother returns?" She shuffles around, seeking a comfortable position on the bumpy ground. "Not before tomorrow evening," she returns, gazing down onto the valley dreamily – the blanket is as near the edge of the cliff as Daniel dared place it. "Daddy doesn't mind me riding out for the whole day, and the homework will wait till tomorrow," she finishes contentedly. "Oh, but we have food. Aren't you hungry? I'm starving," it is only now that she remembers, apparently.

She unties the knot on the tablecloth to reveal the contents of the basket. The cook has been generous: the basket is full to bursting with food and drink. Only at the sight of the mouth-watering feast does Daniel realise just how hungry he truly is. A savoury loaf of bread and a jug of juice, crispy roasted chicken, meat tarts, an apple crumble loaf, as well as fresh and shiny red apples, yellow pears and blue plums materialise as Regina pulls them out one after another, setting the improvised picnic table for a feast. "Tuck in," she grins, grabbing a drumstick herself.

They eat away happily, their appetite quite wolfish after the long ride. The clouds rush by, the treetops bow to the swift wind, but the great crown of the maple and the surrounding group of bushes shelter them well. By the time they finish, most of the food is all but gone, gobbled up by the pair of them. Regina stretches on her back, hands behind her head, and stares upwards. Daniel collects the crumbs as best he can and offers them to the ants a little way from their little camping site, then lies on his side and props his head on his elbow, thus securing himself a triple view: upwards, at the sky; straight ahead, at the valley; and sideways, at Regina.

"Look, Daniel," she points. "There's a Rocinante up there." He looks, and thinks he can make him out as well: a horse-shaped cloud, steel-coloured, rearing. "He even has his sock," he confirms, noting a lighter spot on the horse-cloud's leg. Regina chuckles. "I'm glad he has a name now," she confesses. "It suits him well, don't you think?" "I haven't finished the book yet." Regina has lent it to him not so long ago, and he's been quite busy at it in the evenings. "But I'm sure it does."

"What do you see?" she asks. Daniel turns to lie on his back and ponders the sky for a while. "There, on the left, see?" he points eventually. "There's another horse, and this one can fly." "I don't see it," she says sulkily. "But…that one looks like a dragon to me. See? Wings, and claws, and all? Breathing fire." "You're looking at it the wrong way," he explains patiently. "Come, look from over here. That's not fire, that's the horse's mane, and the wings belong to the horse, too. The claws are merely his legs." "I see it now!" she exclaims. "And there's a horn as well, right there – it's a unicorn!" They continue their cloud-gazing for a long while, pointing out beasts and plants and objects to each other, sometimes arguing if a particular cloud is better to look at this way or that, the direction making all the difference between dragon and unicorn, castle and cottage, horseshoe and rainbow.

"How about a firefly?" Daniel suggests. "Where?" Regina asks, searching the sky fervently. "Not up there," she hears him say. "Down here." She sits up abruptly, and leans over Daniel's closed fist. When he opens it, she spots a longish black bug crawling in Daniel' palm, antennae protruding from its reddish head,. Before they have time to look more closely, the bug spreads its wings and flies off. "Ah," she sighs, then looks at him perplexedly. "I thought they were really flies." Daniel shakes his head. "They come in different shapes and sizes, but they're all bugs." "Aren't they supposed to glow? I think I've seen them from my window at times, but there were just a few, I might even be wrong." "They do, just not all of them, and not all the time. They glow in different colours, too. Thousands of them are said to appear here every night." "Have you ever seen?" she asks hungrily. "I have, once," he nods.

She can't help but envy him for a brief moment: he's been here but short, and seen so much; she's lived here her entire life and never seen much beyond the Mills lands. She resolves to explore more – must they always ride the same paths, after all? She also resolves to something else, and tells him so: "I want to see them. When they come out tonight." Daniel eyes her warily, torn between two conflicting thoughts: the obligation to see her home safe and in time for her not to be missed, and his own desire to stay. Her expectant eyes urge him to comply. "Me too," he nods finally. "I want to see them, too."

The dusk is on them before long, followed by a fiery sunset. When it is no longer possible to make out the clouds, they sit up and lean back against the maple trunk. Daniel can tell Regina is on tenterhooks, her eyes piercing the setting darkness hungrily, waiting for the fireflies to swarm out. A handful of stars light up, and many more remain hidden behind the clouds.

Then, as if someone had struck a light, the hill is suddenly aglow. Regina lets out a silent gasp. The hillsides, the treetops, the shimmering water – all's bathed in gold. Dots of yellow, accompanied by green dots and dots of pale red, float in the air gently. Some glow steadily; some flash, going on and off again, blinking in different patterns. Odd groups here and there begin swirling in a graceful dance. The tiny dots are doubled by the waters of the valley, shimmery in the dark. The lights skate on its surface, disappearing only to reappear a few feet further again.

A flickering cloud flies up from beyond the edge of the cliff and spills over the grassy patch, encompassing them, turning darkness into twilight. Near at hand and far in the distance, the whirl and twirl of the luminous bugs draws fiery shapes on the black cloak of night. Fascinated, Regina waves an arm in an attempt to catch one of the light-bearers but forgets to close her fist over it. She keeps following the spectacle quite untroubled, agape with wonder. At length, the flock of dancing dots diminishes, and the remaining depart further down the valley. Regina smiles as she watches them float away. Her eyes move to her still outstretched hand. "They're quick little things," she says thoughtfully.

Daniel reaches out and places his closed fist over her palm. "Watch out," he says softly as he lets a tiny struggling creature drop into her hand. Regina closes her fingers over it. Through the tiny spaces between her fingers, the firefly's belly flashes pale red. The flutter of its wings as it strives for freedom tickles her skin. One by one, she slowly opens her fingers. The bug takes flight almost immediately, and Regina and Daniel both watch it turn into a glowing dot, until its light is swallowed by the night.

"I think we should go now," Regina whispers, still under the charm of the dance of lights. She hears Daniel move beside her, sees a shadow rise from the blanket, hears Rocinante neigh softly at his approach. It is this sound that summons her back to the present.

She stands up swiftly and rolls up the blanket. She finds Daniel and the horses more by sound and memory than by sight, hands the blanket to Daniel to put away, and hops into the saddle. "I'll lead the way," his voice comes from the darkness. She hears him mount and sets off behind him, steering Rocinante close at his heels.

They make their way down the winding path in silence, focused on finding the way in the thick of the night. As they pass the bushes and tree clumps, a mixture of voices issues from beyond, and an occasional giggle. Once, they even hear a series of sloppy, squeaky, smacky sounds. Regina clears her throat significantly. Daniel suppresses a chuckle, or a "ewww", unsure himself as to which one would be first to come out of his mouth if he allowed himself the liberty. Regina clears her throat again, quite pointedly. "Couples come here to…watch," he comments gravely, trying to keep a straight face. It's more the forced restraint, the earnestness and dignity in his voice, than the words he says - she bursts out laughing, making the most disgusted of sounds in between. That breaks his resolve. They continue to laugh heartily as they trot down the hillside amidst the trees, and pass a considerable chunk of time on the way home by imitating the gross sounds, much to their merriment.


	7. A Flower a Day to Keep the Blues Away

_**Chapter 7**_

_**A Flower a Day to Keep the Blues Away**_

The bright red ball of the setting sun sits right in the middle of the window frame, set against the purplish canvas of the sky. It makes her eyes sting and water as soon as she looks up at it from the book she is reading… the book she is trying to read. A wave of irritation washes over her as she rubs her eyes vigorously. She raises her head and stares at the picturesque sunset, intent and defiant, as if trying to prove something. _Even the sun is mocking me today_, she sighs miserably and claps the book shut, never realising she was holding it upside down for the past hour or so.

She flings aside the sewing she is supposed to be busy at as she slides off the bed. _If only this were my only punishment_. It isn't of course, and the timing couldn't be worse either. She shuffles to the window and leans against the windowsill, resting her chin on her clasped hands.

"You can't see the boy for the sunset," a familiar voice, thick with amusement, comes from below and makes her jump a little.

"Daniel!" She knows him before she turns her gaze to him, though he's a mere shadow to her night-blind eyes as yet.

"It's almost as if you hadn't been expecting me."

But of course she was; how could she not? She dare not, at times, knowing how busy his work is keeping him these days, especially with his father unwell; knowing how tricky and risky sneaking around right under Mama's nose is; but most of all, still in disbelief deep down sometimes that someone cares enough to take such risks for her at all. Yet here he is, crouched beneath her window, looking up at her.

Regina smiles a sad smile. "You've heard, haven't you?"

"Yes...Your Dad took me along just as we'd been hoping. Except you weren't there, so it wasn't near as much fun at the fair."

"At least you got to be there. Me - I'm stuck in my room for an entire week. Just when the fair is finally on!" Her eyes sting again all of a sudden, as if myriads of tiny needles were piercing them, even though it's Daniel rather than the sun she is looking at. She wipes the few treacherous tears away swiftly.

"It really wasn't that big a deal," Daniel blurts out unconvincingly.

"Oh, don't," she dismisses his lame attempt at once, rather harshly. _It's not his fault you didn't get to go_, a little voice inside her head pipes up. _Don't get caught out of bounds next time and you won't end up grounded._ She swallows and takes a calming breath before she speaks again, the rebuke turning into an apology, and a plea. "Just…tell me about it."

And Daniel does: he tells her about the roads teeming with lords and merchants and villagers, all puring towards the town; about the streets packed to bursting with people, shouting greetings and elbowing their ways through the crowds; about the dozens of stalls and booths of various shapes and sizes and colours, sagging under the weight of the merchandise: fruit and vegetables, hens and sheep, bolts of cloth and painted silk, earthenware and fine pottery, loaves of bread and wheels of cheese, chunks of meat and trays of sweets, jugs of ale and barrels of mead, toys and weapons and much more. Haggling seemed to start at sunrise and might not cease till sunset, for all Daniel knows.

Regina listens wide-eyed, yet Daniel knows this is not the part she cares about the most. "A stage was set up at the square," he says, watching for her reaction. "In the afternoon, the benches filled with people. Master Henry still had business to attend to, but he was kind enough to let me watch."

"And?" she fidgets and whispers urgently.

"The jugglers and tumblers came. Some breathed fire, and some swallowed swords. Some made sharp daggers and flaming torches fly in the air, and some seemed to be able to fly themselves. There were jesters too, and singing and dancing. They all wore the strangest, fanciest garb and acted out a story together."

"What story?" she urges him on, completely enraptured by just the retelling of it.

"It was about an old couple who is visited by two men who roam the world in disguise and come across this humble cottage. Even though they had very little themselves, they offered their hospitality and even went to kill their very last goose to be able to feast their guests. Just as they were about to kill the goose, the men revealed themselves as powerful wizards and wanted to reward the couple for their kindness and hospitality. They promised to fulfil the couple's any wish. All the husband and wife wished for was for neither of them to see the other die. The wizards granted their wish. After several more years passed, their time came. They were sitting on the porch together when each noticed the other sprouting leaves and growing bark over their skin. They turned into trees and stood there forever with their branches entwined… I wish you could have seen it, too," Daniel gushes but finishes the sentence ever more wretchedly.

Regina nods; captivated by Daniel's narration, she quite forgot the bitterness of her disappointment, but now she feels it slowly return. "Well…I'm glad you had a good time." _It's true,_ she thinks_. I am glad. I just wish it had been the two of us together, and Daddy might even have stayed for the performance if I'd asked him to…_

"I kept you in mind, you know," Daniel interrupts her musings. "Even with the show and all." He fumbles in his shirt some, then holds up a frail little something for her to take. Regina squints at it in the remaining light of day, holding the small purple flower gently between her fingers.

"It's not much," Daniel shrugs, sounding anxious all of a sudden. He wanted to get her a gingerbread horse he saw on display in one of the stalls…but he didn't have the money to buy it. "I - picked it on the way. That way you had at least a small part in the outing - right?"

"A pansy." She senses his unease as well as his doubts, and guesses the reason. "It's lovely, Daniel, thank you." She can tell he is relieved by her words even though it is already dark beyond recognition.

A diversion from afar turns his head. "I must go," he says. "I still need to tend to the horses."

She nods and keeps quiet but the unspoken question hangs in the air all the same.

"I'll come again tomorrow. And every other day of your punishment, too."

* * *

The sun is still an orange in the deep-blue sky when he turns up the following day. Regina drops the tedious needlework as soon as she hears a faint rustling outside, and rushes to the window.

"Have you just returned?" she asks even before she leans out and spots him.

"Yes. I rode down to Emerald Valley today, to look at the new piece of land your mother wants to buy. Master Henry says it must needs be fit for a horse pasture."

"Is it? What is Emerald Valley like? Is it going to be ours? Perhaps we could ride out there together sometime if it is. I've heard it's beautiful there, all fresh and green throughout the year."

The rush of words breeds a certain suspicion in Daniel, namely that Regina has spent the larger part of the afternoon waiting for evening to come. _How bored she must be_, he mulls, _and how lonely_. It is part of her punishment – the only person to see her during the week is to be Cora; she brings all the food and drink and anything else Regina might require - of which of course Cora herself is the judge.

"It really is as they say," he confirms. "Better, in fact. Even more beautiful; though perhaps not always all green. The grass is soft and green even in high summer thanks to the many cool streams running across the valley, and the trees…" Daniel launches into a description of the many trees and shrubs of the valley, sketching a picture almost alive. Regina feels the walls dissolve around her as tall trees and short shrubs take their place: maples hem the hillsides as well as the streams, their trunks glistening with sweet sap; rock elms cling to shady rocks as well as moist loam; silvery-bodied beeches parade dark green cloaks. She walks beneath the shade of broad-leaved, hairy-twigged chestnuts; she passes birches with brownish-white trunks; evergreen spruces with pointy needles; ancient, towering white and red pines with their needles brittle but unyielding to the wind or the chill; hardy fast-growing balsam poplars; trembling aspens with quaking leaves; wild cherries; ash shrubs and trees with perfect white flower clusters; two-faced black oaks with their leaves a shiny deep green on the upper side and yellowish-brown on the lower; long-lived white oaks with their leaf-covered arms reaching high and wide; and scarlet oaks with their leaves of glossy green.

The illusion is gone as soon as Daniel finishes: the trees shrink back to the earth and walls rise around her instead - and Regina finds herself confined to her room once again.

"I wish I could see it as you have!"

Daniel smiles a triumphant smile that seems quite out of place to the distraught Regina but her reservations are all but gone when he coaxes something green and white from both pockets and offers it to her. To his surprise, she runs off at the sight but returns momentarily, and sets a heavy book on the windowsill. She holds her newly established herbarium open for him on a page with a single purple pansy. Only then does she reach for the bundle of white heather in his right hand and the green cluster in his left.

"Careful with this," he cautions.

"Ah," she breathes out. "It's a four-leaf clover! A lucky clover! I'll pick a special place for it."

* * *

The molten-gold orb still hangs high in the bright blue sky when Daniel waves from beneath the windowsill, pressed against the cool wall to temper the heat a little. Regina appears on the other side shortly. He can tell immediately that the stay indoors is bearing down on her with particular weight today. She watches him expectantly, waiting to hear of a new adventure, a new story to make her own for a moment.

"I have no story to tell today," he admits. "I've been working in the stables all day, mostly cleaning."

Regina hangs her head slightly. "…Rocinante?"

"He's fine. I'm taking good care of him for you. You needn't worry. We go for a ride every day, I've told you." He has, on the first day actually. _It should be me though; I should be taking Rocinante out every day. _A frown nestles on her brow then – a new task for Daniel, he decides, and accepts the challenge.

"Just because I don't have a story doesn't mean I can't make you smile. I once groomed a jester's horse and he showed me a thing or two."

"The jester? Or the horse?" she offers a half-hearted jape.

Daniel shrugs and throws a pompously mysterious face. He runs a hand in front of his face and grows stern behind it; his expression is stony for a moment. He runs his hand up in front of his face again and makes a horrible grimace. Before Regina has time to open her mouth in protest, he stomps his foot and begins a foolish dance, accompanying himself with a no less comical musical performance: "I am gone, Miss," he flings himself on the ground with bulging eyes and hides behind an imaginary bush and his own hands, lying flat on his belly. "And anon, Miss," he jumps back up and salutes her by flourishing an imaginary hat in the air, "I'll be with you again," he grins peevishly. "In a tr-thrice," he throws up four fingers, then five, then begins to finger-count feverishly with a frown of mock-concentration and mock-dullness, only to change his mind a moment later and wave his hand dismissively. "Like to the old Vice," he smiles an innocent, disarming smile, "Your need to sustain." He finishes with a seemingly perfect cartwheel before he tumbles down midway and ends up in a tangled heap on the grass.

By the time his little performance comes to an end, Regina is in fits of laughter and almost reduced to tears. Having put his own face back on instead of the jester's, Daniel grins a contented grin – mission accomplished. His hand rummages in his pocket and reaches up to the windowsill. She feels a tickle on her cheek as the leaves and petals brush against it, and wrings the crimson daisy from his hand, chuckling.

* * *

There is no proper sunset today; one only suspects the sun behind the fluffy steely clouds as it pokes a long pale finger from behind. Daniel is reduced to a mere shade when Regina sees him emerge from behind the corner. His boots make faint squishy sounds in the grass.

"It hasn't been raining yet, has it?"

Daniel shakes his head. "That's from the marshes beyond the hill, my boots seem to have a leak," he shrugs.

"The marshes?" The mystery wetlands beyond the hill are on her bucket list, despite the grudge Mama seems to bear them, especially when made to imagine the messy swamps and treacherous mud alongside her daughter. It seems to Regina she's been locked up in her room for ages and ages; as if all life were passing her by in a blur of colours, scents, and adventures, while she stands alone in some enchanted bubble of frozen time.

Daniel inclines his head pensively as he watches her face turn sour and her eyes dreamy. He waves a hand in front of her face. The gesture charms an ever so tiny smile onto her lips and returns focus to her features.

"Are there flowers in the wetlands?" she inquires knowingly; she has come to look forward to the small surprises he bestows on her every day. He smirks.

"All in due time. I've got something else to show you first." Regina leans out of the window curiously as Daniel pulls a small object out of his pocket; what it is she can't make out in the dimming evening light. He puts it to his lips and blows. A sharp high-pitched note cuts through the air.

"You got me a whistle?"

"I _made_ you one," he corrects her. "It's a willow whistle. I attached a cord as well. Here," he hands it to her carefully. Regina turns it over in her hands. "I've always wanted one of these." The bark is cold to the touch and holds the memory of water; the mouthpiece and air hole were clearly carved with care and precision. _This must have taken ages to make._

"Try it," he suggests.

"I dare not," she is loath to say. "In case someone hears and comes looking ..."

"Right…" he admits, equally disgruntled by the sheer unfairness of it all the same. "I have to go…" he adds reluctantly. Before he does, he produces a little flower and puts it on the windowsill. "As promised," he says over his shoulder, turns, and runs to follow the voice calling for him from the stables. As he disappears in the dark, she picks up the blue periwinkle and takes a sniff.

* * *

A silver crescent is nestled between the shadow clouds on the star-strewn night sky. Regina is abed with a single candle penetrating the darkness of the room. The books she's been trying to read lies open across her lap, yet it could as well be closed for all the good it does her. _Where is he? Could he not be coming? _She shuffles around and throws the blanket off her outstretched legs. _It makes no matter_, she tells herself as she crosses the room making for the window. _Tomorrow I'll be free again, and I won't have to just wait around, I'll go wherever I please. _

"Regina," comes an urgent whisper from outside just as she rests her elbows on the windowsill, and she flinches. "There you are," she whispers back reproachfully, recovered within a moment. "I thought you had forgotten me." Her words surprise even herself, and the annoyance that makes her speak them even more so. _It's partially true_, it dawns on her just then.

"Of course not. You know I have to work. I was here every night though. I'm here now." It's so dark she sees nothing of his face, yet his injury rings loud and clear.

Regina's cheeks burn with shame. Of course she knows that. Why is she being so foolish all of a sudden? _It's the dragon's belly. I've been locked in for too long._ The silence stretches long and awkward.

"I-I just meant…" she stammers under her breath, then finishes: "I'm glad you came."

"Me too," he rejoins. "I'm even gladder you're leaving the dragon tomorrow." That makes her smile.

It is a short-lived smile, though; her face grows serious again. "Tell me about Rocinante."

He tells her about Rocinante every day: whether he eats well, which pasture he spent the day at, what route they took on their rides. She won't be content with that sort of information today, he can tell.

"We roamed the fields today," he begins. "We came upon a hedgehog in the grassy balk; it was about to cross the lane. We almost trampled him but he'd heard us coming and curled up right in front of us – beneath us, I should say, for he was right there between Rocinante's forelegs. Apparently Rocinante hadn't had much experience with hedgehogs before – he prodded him once with his hoof, and examined him at length before he could be persuaded to proceed."

Regina sniffs. "I miss him. Do you think he misses me?"

"I know for sure." He sounds quite adamant, much to Regina's relief. "You'll be with him tomorrow."

"I will," she perks up. "And we can ride out together, and you'll show me all the places you've been this week. Perhaps the hedgehog will be there, too." She would quite like to see him for herself.

"Don't forget about the apple tree, you should pay that a visit, too," he returns brightly.

"I hope it isn't all dried up after all the heat," she muses, concern drawing lines of worry on her shadowy face.

"It got a bucketful just this evening, before I came."

"Has it grown much?" She would ask him constantly at the beginning if it was bearing fruit yet, she smiles to remember. Not so anymore; she knows better. It might well be years before the tree matures and bears the first apple. It will be worth the wait.

"You'll see," he chuckles. There's a bit of that japery they've grown accustomed to between themselves, a bit of a tease, but a warm and friendly one at that.

"Not enough to have borne this," he adds more seriously. If there is movement in the darkness, as she assumes there must be, it remains hidden under the cloak of night. "This is from a different tree…but yours will soon have ones of its own."

A tender pink-and-white apple blossom appears on the windowsill out of thin air. She's still clutching it after he's gone as she snuffs out the candle and slips under the blanket. Tonight she'll have sweet dreams, for tomorrow she is released from the dragon's belly into freedom.


	8. Unhealed, It Haunts

_Author's Note: Alright, here it is. The time has come for some angst, hurt/comfort, as Daniel reveals some of his backstory, and Regina touches upon her complicated relationship with Cora. Good luck to your feels, and many thanks for sticking around for this story I'm telling._

___Trigger Warning: implied abuse. _

_**Chapter 8**_

_**Unhealed, It Haunts**_

The door creaks but slightly as she slips in; she has come to know it, learnt to open and close it with utmost care, hardly making a noise. The smothering stuffiness of the room weighs down on her immediately. A dozen odours mix and mingle. She knows them all by now: hard-packed dirt floor and a carpet of fresh straw, sweaty sheets, melted candlewax, sticky steam and burning firewood, teas and syrups and tinctures and poultices and the herbs to make them. She can tell each smell apart, so familiar have they become: the minty smell of pennyroyal leaves, fresh and sweet; horse-heal root, oddly pungent and deliciously perfumey at the same time; the distinctive maple-syrupy smell of amber-coloured fenugreek seeds; hyssop with its minty leaves and spiky blue flowers, and the bitter smell of hyssop tea. There's musky angelica, fragrant anise seeds, and sweet liquorice taproot. There's the peppery smell of caraway leaves, fine and feathery; the honey-smelling coltsfoot leaves, heart-shaped; and the unmistakable foul stench of comfrey poultice. Yet the overbearing smell of garlic overpowers them all. They are bad smells, sad smells. Even sticks of cinnamon, always a favourite of hers, have lately come to smell of sickbed to her.

Quietly, lest she disturb the sleeper, she moves across the straw-strewn room to retrieve a jug from the small pantry, and parsley from a shelf. She looks around for a bowl only to find no empty one, so she sniffs at the nearest one and chucks its contents into the fire. In goes the parsley, followed by the wine. The jug is almost empty; she has to coax what remains out by turning the jug upside down. The thin trickle of the last of the sour red liquid is just enough to drown the parsley. Just the smell of alcohol is enough to make Regina's head swim. Boiling it will make that go away, she knows, and hangs the bowl over the fire by the chain fastened to the rear wall of the chimney.

The straw rustles and the legs of the chair scrape against the floor as she sits by the bed. Nothing has changed since early morning. Daniel had tucked his Daddy in then, placed a water-soaked towel on his feverish forehead, and left for the stables, as Regina hurried to take her lessons back in the mansion - which she hadn't been supposed to leave in the first place. Not then, and not now, she thinks. Not for this house. Not when Edric is ill.

It seems he has hardly moved all day. She reaches for his forehead. Even before she comes in contact with the towel or the skin, she can tell by the heat emanating from the skin that the fever has not subsided. The towel is warm to the touch, and almost completely dry. Regina hurries off to soak it anew in a basin on the counter. Leaning over the bed with the fresh cold compress in hand, she never hears the door open.

Daniel enters noiselessly despite the hurry, just as Regina is placing the towel carefully back on. A hint of a smile flickers across his weary face at the sight, but is replaced by a frown again.

"He's still asleep, then," he says softly. Regina turns with an involuntary twitch. She swallows and nods, and watches him closely. Daniel crosses to the fireplace at a brisk pace, waves of steam rising from the bowl away, and peers in. "It's done."

"Not quite," Regina replies and steps to the fireplace. Daniel looks at her quizzically as she fumbles with her sleeve. She pulls out a patch of cloth, unfolds it, and holds her hand up for him to see. Daniel looks at the small pile in her palm, then at her, then back at her hand again. He knows what it is even though he's never seen it up close, or this much of it. A new bout of hope spreads in belly and warms him from the inside. It is a while before another realisation hits him. He looks back up at Regina, puzzled. There's conflict written all over her face: part proud, part abashed, she smiles a smile that's regretful and joyous both. That's more than enough evidence for him.

"They didn't give this to you, did they?" It's no question really, they both know.

"No," she admits and hangs her head, but only for a split second; then she raises it again, defiant and resolute. "I took it."

Daniel's at a loss for words, caught up between concern for her and concern for his Dad. Saffron is deemed a powerful cure for several illnesses amongst its other uses, but it is also rare and costly. Daniel could never afford to get it, no matter how many doctors swear by its effects. A small amount is kept in the Mills kitchens for seasoning, and a pouch of it stored in Lady Cora's fabled cupboard of mysterious ingredients, Regina told him before. There was no question of asking for any though. Yet now, here it is, delivered directly to him by Regina - stolen.

"You shouldn't have…what if they had caught you? What if they find out yet?"

"They didn't. They won't. I didn't like it…" That much is clear, Daniel thinks. Neither would I have expected you to. "…but I had to," she explains urgently. At the sight of guilt settling on his face, she corrects herself quickly. "I _wanted_ to. If it helps your Daddy, it'll have been worth it, right? The least we can do is try."

He stares at her long and hard as she throws a few threads of bright red-and-yellow in the bowl to let it all simmer. Still astonished, Daniel squeezes her hand in thanks. She understands.

* * *

There is more to the saffron-pinching than Regina is letting on, despite her assurances of the contrary. Her stomach is tied in knots the following day, and will be for days to come, until she is sure Mama has used what Regina thinks of as her potion kit and not mentioned anything about a missing ingredient. She had enough on her plate with meeting with Daniel every moment she could against Mama's wish, educating Daniel without her knowledge, and paying daily visits at Edric's sickbed in the face of the risk of catching whatever it is he's suffering from despite Daniel's caution and Mama's express ban.

Fear of Mama's wrath keeps her away from Daniel's for an entire day and much of the evening. Regina busies herself with tedious needlework and piano practice to appease Mama, in Regina's own doubting soul at least.

Come late evening though, she finds herself slipping through the ever-so-slightly-creaking door. The familiar scent of illness and medicine engulfs her immediately. Nothing moves in the room except for the dwindling flames of a candle on the bedside and the long, fiery tongues in the fireplace. Edric is breathing heavily, wheezing, struggling with each breath. For a moment, she thinks them both asleep. Then she hears her name whispered form a dark corner.

She finds Daniel sitting cross-legged on a mattress. He's been sleeping there since his Daddy was confined to bed, she remembers. The moment she sees him up close she doubts whether Daniel's been getting any sleep at all for the past few nights. She joins him gingerly, fighting a sudden onset of apprehension. After the whispered name, Daniel speaks no more. Neither does she for a while, but merely watches him staring into the flames from the corner of her eye.

Edric stirs and draws a laboured breath, only to be overwhelmed by a spell of cough so violent that it sends spasms through his body. Used to him mostly just lying in a feverish sleep, Regina is stunned by the scene, but Daniel jumps up and rushes to his aid. Regina soon sees, however, that there isn't much for him to do, besides holding a bowl for Edric to spit the thick green phlegm into. Desperate for something to do herself, Regina takes the jar with the grossly stinking comfrey poultice and begins to smear a thick layer on a clean towel. Gradually, the coughing spasm subsides at long last. Daniel presses the poultice on Edric's chest, while Regina manages to get a spoonful of angelica syrup down his throat. She's relieved to hear his breathing turn regular again, even though there are still grunting noises at each breath. Soon he falls back into a heavy, restless sleep. Regina and Daniel both remain standing by his bed, she with the empty spoon in her hand and him awkwardly holding the spitting bowl.

"Nothing more we can do," Daniel breaks the silence eventually. He empties the bowl and sets it at the bedside, then returns to the mattress. Regina follows. Silence falls again, dark and heavy. At long last, Daniel turns to her. "It's happened before," he says miserably. "But it's never been so bad, or lasted so long."

Regina nods, remembering him mention his Daddy's recurring health issues when they first met. She puts a hand on his shoulder. "It will pass," she whispers, and prays that the words prove true. They've been trying so hard… it has to end well. It's only fair! All those herbs and concoctions can't be all for nothing after all!

It is Daniel's turn to nod. "It's just…" he swallows. "Every time Dad is bedbound… it reminds me of Mum. Of how she died."

Regina lets out a gasp. Daniel has mentioned his Mama once or twice but never in detail, and it's seemed so hard for him each time that Regina's always chosen not to ask questions. "Do you- do you want to talk about it?" she offers timidly.

Daniel keeps quiet for a while; long enough for Regina to consider it a refusal. Then he clears his throat and starts to speak – slowly at first, and sadly.

"Her name was Elaine. She worked in the gardens of some lord Dad was grooming for then; that's how they met. Mum loved plants. Everyone agreed she had a green thumb. I had my own patch of garden when I was little, you know. I wanted to grow the most ridiculous plants together, so it was a patch of fruit and veggies, flowers and weeds. Apparently there was a weed I was particularly fond of, don't know which." The memory paints a smile on his face – a genuine one, one of those she hasn't seen since Edric took to bed.

Regina smiles back. "My apple tree," she recalls. "And the herbs, you know them all." She remembers his exasperation at the dry theory of her biology notes, the flowers he used to bring her as consolation prize during home confinement, and the colourful and lively detail with which he described the nature in Emerald Valley, too. _It all makes sense now._

He nods dreamily, far away in mind, in space as well as time. Regina chooses not to disturb him, to let him savour the memory. He eventually resumes talking.

"We were happy - I remember that even though I was very young. One day they told me I was going to be a big brother. I was so excited about that! I made plans for…all kinds of things, really, but especially weeds to grow and horses to ride and pranks to play on Dad."

That's quite new to Regina, who has never heard about brothers or sisters of Daniel's before. He would make a great big brother, too, she thinks, and almost tells him so, when in the last she remembers Daniel has no brothers or sisters. That can only mean one thing… She closes her mouth again and bites her lip, hanging on his words and dreading what's to come at the same time.

"Mum's belly grew so big…I was completely baffled. Then when the time came a family took me to stay with them during the birth. No one told me too much about it before or after. When I returned home I found my little sister in the crib, pink and squalling. Dad told me to tickle her palm with my finger, and she squeezed it in that tiny little fist of hers. She even stopped crying for a moment. But something was wrong… I could tell from Dad's tense face. I didn't understand - they were supposed to be happy. A doctor came and went and Dad told me I could go and see Mum – she was still abed in the other room. The way he talked…it made me want to cry – he was so sad, so troubled. I told myself I was being silly. I went to Mum. I still remember it like it was yesterday. I still remember everything about her…" Daniel's voice trails off and he rubs his eyes distractedly. Regina stares at him, transfixed.

"She looked both like herself and nothing like herself. She had the same chestnut hair; but it stuck to her sweaty brow and lay flat and limp on the pillow. Her eyes were the same green with specks of gold; but the sparkle was gone. They were still warm though…but vacant at times, as if she were someplace else. Her cheeks were hollow and her face pale like wax… And as she pulled me close, her hand shook so badly. There was a blazing fire, yet she kept shivering from cold… And when she started talking…her voice was weak and talking seemed to tire her so much. She told me-" The words catch in his mouth.

Regina grabs his hand before he can brush away the tear that trickles down his cheek. He will not be crying alone. "You don't have to…if you don't…" she stammers.

Daniel shakes his head as another tear rolls from his eye. Clutching her hand in his, he presses on. "She told me she loved me, and to keep up my vegetable patch, and to help Dad with hers, and with everything else, too… That he'd always take care of me. And that my little sister would rely on her big brother to look out for her. I was petrified. I asked where she was going – was she leaving us? I was only five years old. That was the closest she came to crying. But she never actually cried; she looked peaceful, if sad. She kissed me and hugged me ever so tight… I burst into tears as soon as I'd left the room. That was the last time she ever hugged me. Dad went in after me, and when he came back out… I knew she was gone."

Sobbing, Regina makes to pull him into a hug, but Daniel resists, refusing to give in to tears just yet.

"My little sister… She stayed with us for two more days. Dad was with her night and day but there was no saving her. She went wherever Mum had gone. There hadn't even been time to give her a name…"

This time Daniel doesn't fight back the tears anymore. He leans against Regina's shoulder and she wraps her arms around him. They remain so for quite a while, his head resting on her shoulder, her cheek pressed to his head.

"We left the day after," Daniel mumbles into her shoulder, his voice thick with emotion but firm once again. "We moved from place to place for years, never staying anywhere too long. Dad seemed to prefer it that way, and I didn't mind. Only shortly after we got on the way his illness began, and it kept getting worse. Then we settled down here. I hoped it wouldn't return," he finishes with a note of desperation.

Regina suppresses a sob. She must be there for Daniel now. She seeks for words of encouragement feverishly. "He's going to be fine," she blurts out. _He has to be._ She feels renewed faith flow through her - a welcome sign. "He will get well, like all the times before. Like I got well, remember?" _It's only fair. _

Daniel disentangles himself from the embrace and looks her in the face. His eyes are red but dry, his jaw set, his chin raised. He gives a slow, determined nod. "You're right. I mustn't…give in to doubt. Dad is strong. This place is better for him than anywhere else, and he has all the medication and all the care. I should make better use of my time –make some more tea, and some food, too, to make him strong."

"I'll help," she says immediately, with a lighter heart once again, glad of the determination on his face, the calmness returned to him.

She watches him pick the herbs he needs, mix the spiced wine, add the saffron – he keeps it in the little satchel on the top shelf, hidden and treasured. She watches him slice the apples and set them over the fire to cook as she works the mortar and the pestle, crushing pennyroyal leaves into a fine powder to mix with honey.

A moon beam creeps in through the window and hits the sheets just as the apples are cooked, the wine warmed, and the honeyed cough remedy prepared. Daniel walks over to the bed and sits on the side. Regina fancies he hesitates for a fragment of a second before he puts a hand on Edric's shoulder and shakes him gently. He doesn't stir. Daniel shakes him again, with more force. "Dad," he mutters, "Dad, you need to wake up, you need to eat something and take your medicine. _Dad_," he repeats with a hint of frustration.

It's this last word that seems to work eventually – Edric's eyes flutter open. He gazes straight at Daniel but appears not to see him for a moment, so hazy and unfocused is his stare. "Dad," Daniel says with relief. "It's me – Daniel?" Edric's mouth twitches ever so slightly in an attempt to smile. Standing at the bedside looking down on them, she sighs a mighty, grateful sigh. Edric raises his eyes to meet hers, and a puzzled looks settles on his face. "Dad, Regina's here, too. She's been helping me take care of you." It takes a while before Edric seems to have taken this in; he gives the tiniest, slowest of nods. "We have apples," Daniel says, encouraged by his father's responsiveness, "and tea, and mulled wine. And honey with pennyroyal for your cough. Which would you have first?"

Edric opens his mouth and attempts to speak. The words come slowly and with much effort, clumsily formed. "Can't…eat. Just…drink?"

Daniel frowns. "But you need to eat something," he presses miserably.

"What if we did it this way?" Regina pipes up, sets the honey-and-pennyroyal mix on the bedside next to the flickering candle, and helps herself to a slice of apple. She dips it into the honey deftly and brings it to Edric's cracked lips. To both of their relief, Edric accepts the food, rolls it once or twice in his mouth, and swallows.

Slowly, painstakingly, they manage to feed him about the third of the apples, and most of the honey. Edric crinkles his nose at the bitter hyssop tea offered to him, but accepts the mulled wine sprinkled with saffron, and, gulp after gulp, drinks up the whole cup. As Daniel removes the cup from his mouth, Edric moves his hand on the sheet but cannot manage to raise it, so Daniel reaches for it. Edric gives his hand a feeble squeeze. He holds Regina's gaze for a moment; then, exhausted by all the effort, he drifts off again, his breathing a little calmer, a little more regular than before.

Nothing moves for a while: not Regina, leaning against the bedside table with the almost empty bowl of honey in her hand; not Daniel, with the half-full bowl of apples in his lap and his hand laid on his father's; not the cloud behind the window that's shielding the moon from view. The air is stiff as ever and still, yet there seems to be a slight breath of fresh air stirring outside and finding its way in through the window, and the silence is peaceful rather than oppressive.

A mighty growl cuts through the stillness, loud and clear, coming from Daniel's stomach. Regina sniggers. "I skipped dinner," Daniel remembers with a smirk. "Aren't you hungry?" Regina's stomach rumbles in response, and makes them both grin. "We can finish the apples," he suggests, "and get something else on the side."

"The honey," she nods. "And a cinnamon stick to go with it?"

They settle in their corner on the mattress, with the honeyed apples between them. They eat their way through them in silence at first, realising with the first mouthfuls just how hungry they truly were. After the apples are gone, they scoop every bit of honey with their fingers, wiping the bowl clean. By way of dessert, Daniel chews on a liquorice root, and Regina munches on a cinnamon stick. The heavy cloud has shifted and their view is of the clear night sky, the moon out of sight by the time. Daniel frowns.

"It's late. Won't you be missed?"

Regina shrugs; Daniel thinks to have spotted a hint of fear in her eyes but it's gone before he can be sure.

"I don't want to get you in trouble."

"You? You haven't done anything. They wouldn't know to look for me here anyway. I'll slip back in if there's a commotion. But I don't think there will be. It's just this once, anyway."

Is it him or herself she's trying to convince, Daniel wonders? Regina's upbringing is exceptionally strict, that much he's noticed; anyone with eyes to see would have noticed. Too strict, he's heard many a whisper. In fact, he's heard worse whispers than that about Lady Cora, but he's never seen the proof of those. He knows better than to share that kind of gossip with Regina, too.

Some trace of his thoughts must have shown on his face, judging by the curious look Regina gives him: "What is it?"

"Nothing," he returns automatically, abashed. Regina frowns. It's such a bare-faced lie, and it's not something they do between themselves. He knows he will have to come up with a better response, no matter how much he hates going there. "I was just wondering… well, about your parents," he admits, watching her closely.

Regina lowers her eyes.

"Forget it," he blurts out.

She shakes her head, still avoiding his gaze, bidding her time.

He reaches out and touches her shoulder. "Regina, I didn't mean to," he says anxiously, without knowing exactly what it is that he's done.

"No, that's alright," she mutters, and finally meets his eye. "It's just that…the story of your family…is so different from mine."

His mother is dead; hers is alive. He comes from servants; she's as good as a princess. That's as different as can be, yet Daniel is sure she means neither one nor the other. In the end, they both have the same thing in mind: unspoken so far though hinted at, yet ever-present. The memory of their first meeting floats to the surface of his mind: the horror on her face as she discovered the ruin of her dress ("Mama will be so angry"); the way the other children bullied her and teased her about Lady Cora, and the tearful confession of her having no friends. Her words ring in his ears, etched in his brain with surprising clarity: "I just wanted to play with them. Just like all the other children. I don't have anyone to play with." For a split second, he could swear she has just spoken those words, so vivid is his memory. But Regina is in fact just quietly sitting with her hands folded in her lap, looking at him miserably.

"I shouldn't have brought it up," he offers hastily - she can still back out if she doesn't want to have this conversation.

"I know there are rumours," she says. "About Mama."

A strange occurrence, Daniel thinks, for how can she be answering his own thoughts so precisely without him having voiced them? "How do you know?" he asks, playing for time.

"I keep my ears open," she answers somewhat irritably. "The servants talk. Villagers talk, even if I am made to stay in the carriage I hear things. And if I wanted to ignore the talk, those children back then were very clear about it."

If ever Daniel has felt more uncomfortable, he sure doesn't remember the time.

"They're scared of her. They say Mama is evil. How can they say that? I think it's because she has powers other people don't. Magic," she ponders bitterly.

"You don't like magic," Daniel notes.

"I hate magic," she says simply. "Magic does strange things to people. Daddy says so, too. He says Mama wasn't always like this. So I think magic changed her."

"Some magic is good, isn't it? How about fairy magic?"

"I don't know, I've never seen it. I just wish magic didn't even exist. You can do horrible things with it…hurt people," she finishes under her breath. There's fear in her voice now, Daniel is sure of it.

"Hurt people?" _Surely not, _he shivers at the thought that crosses his mind. She swallows, wide-eyed. "Regina?"

"Sometimes, when I misbehave…" she whispers, leaving the sentence hanging in the air. Daniel's heart skips a beat. Seeing the horrified expression on his face, Regina suddenly looks alarmed. "But all parents punish their children when they misbehave, so there's really nothing wrong with that!"

"Punish them with detention, maybe. Or some extra duty. Not by hurting them!" Well, some parents do, he knows, but those aren't the kind of punishments he or his family ever practised.

"It's not like she wants to hurt me! I don't want you to think that!" she exclaims with tears of fury in her eyes. "She means well, she loves me, I know it!" But her eyes are telling a different story, one of doubt and craving, and under his piercing look, she buries her face in her hands, shaking violently.

Horror-struck, Daniel makes to touch her, then withdraws his hand. "Regina," he says pleadingly, frowning all the while. He doesn't like what he's heard, but he understands instinctively this will better go unsaid.

Regina raises her tear-stained face to look straight in his. "You don't believe it, do you? The rumours? You don't think she's evil?"

"No, of course not," he says meekly. "She's your mother. Of course she loves you. Of course you love her. I understand that."

Regina sniffs. The relief on her face is plain to see. "I do love her. It's just… Mama's so hard to please," she mumbles. "I just… I just wish she were proud of me. It's hard to live up to her expectations…and sometimes I'm not sure I even want to. I just want to do some things my way, be myself, you know? And then I feel guilty because I disappoint her. Is it horrible of me? Am I terribly selfish?"

"Of course not! You're nothing of the sort! Look at you now, helping my Dad and I. How could you be selfish, or horrible?"

Regina smiles crookedly at his words, and for a moment it looks as though the tears might have to blow a retreat. It's all too much for her in the end, though. Words unspoken for so long, thoughts she's been pushing to the very back of her mind, emotions she's buried deep down in her heart - they have finally been voiced, and heard with patience, and received without the judgement she had always feared, with the caring and understanding she'd craved for and needed. And she bursts into tears more plentiful than before, but with a relief never before known to her. Her cheek is pressed to Daniel's tear-soaked shoulder as he holds her, rocking her back and forth like a baby.

Gradually, Regina's sobs subside, the tears dry out, and after a while, Daniel realises Regina has fallen asleep. He leans against the wall, careful not to move too much so as not to wake her. His eyes slide over the untouched glass of mulled wine with scarlet and gold specks floating on the surface. He gazes out of the window pensively, wishing Regina's tears were rarer still than saffron.


End file.
